


Chasing

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Confessions, Eggs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Date, First Time For Everything And We Do Mean Everything, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstanding, New Relationship, References to Past Drug Abuse, Sex Toys, Sherlock Has A Date?, Sherlock Panics, Sherlock's Vulnerability, The Soft Night, Vatican Cameos, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A misunderstanding forces John to confront his feelings and Sherlock his fear. As the nature of their relationship changes, there is a power shift at 221B Baker Street: Sherlock may have the upper hand when it comes to desires, but his own vulnerability causes a panic that he cannot control alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Confuses John and John Confuses Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It was 7pm. Sherlock was in his room, looking at himself in the mirror. He wasn't feeling very sure, he wasn't sure this was a good idea. He tried to change his face, tried to look like he was sure. It wouldn't have convinced him but might convince someone else.

John was at the kitchen table working on his laptop, as he had been for most of the day. Sherlock walked past him and to the door where he grabbed his coat and scarf. "Don't wait up," he called to John, "I think I've got a date." He turned and left the flat.

"All right," John called back, lifting his hand in a sort of wave. But then his hands paused, and he looked up with narrow eyes, and by the time he turned to face the door Sherlock was gone. A date? Had Sherlock said he was going on a date? With whom? John quickly pulled out his phone and was halfway through demanding an explanation when he stopped himself. That would be a crazy thing to do. Sherlock was an adult and single, so why couldn't he go on a date? He sighed and went back to his computer. He would simply ask when Sherlock got home, like friends do. 

Sherlock was the last to arrive. Molly greeted him in an overly familiar way and, although Sherlock didn't really mind, he could tell instantly that Molly's date did, so he pulled back awkwardly. Molly introduced her date and Sherlock immediately forgot his name. Then Molly introduced her friend and Sherlock tried hard not to forget her name, but did anyway. 

He could tell that Molly's description of this evening had been misleading, and he wondered if she had done it deliberately. It wasn't really a date -- Molly must have said that phrase twenty times in their conversation, he assumed because everyone seemed certain Molly had a crush on Sherlock and therefore it seemed illogical for her to want him to date someone else. Still, Sherlock himself had called it a date when he told John, a detail that Sherlock decided he would wonder about later on.

It became clear, though, that to this woman it _was_ a date. Molly had described her friend as extremely knowledgeable about chemistry yet chemistry was not mentioned once the whole evening. She did tell Sherlock, though, that she was recently divorced, thinking of moving out of London, looking for a rich older man to marry so she needn't worry about money, and was deafened by the sound of her biological clock. Of course, only one of these things did she actually tell him with words; the rest he could easily read before they had even ordered their food. Overall, the evening was incredibly boring and he wished he had stayed in with John. But Molly's sweet smile of thanks at the end of the night made him glad he had come. John had been harassing Sherlock about being kinder to Molly: since it must have been obvious he had only come as a favour to her, he would be on the plus side of kindness towards Molly, buying him a little time without John's nagging.

The cold air felt good on his skin as he walked home, not bothering to wave to Molly, her boyfriend or her friend when their car honked as it drove by him. It was much later than he had intended on staying and he mainly just felt annoyed. He checked his phone but had no messages. When he got back he let himself into the flat, hung up his coat and scarf and flopped down onto the sofa.

John was still at the computer, still on the same page he'd been on when Sherlock left. He waited a good ten minutes, but when it was clear that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything, he decided he had to. "So . . . a date, huh?"

"So it appears," Sherlock said, kicking off his shoes. "Are you still working on the same thing? I hope you've at least got up once or twice while I've been gone. You'll do your back a mischief sitting in the same position that long."

"How was it?" John asked, trying to sound casual about it. He was nervous, for some reason, and a little bit annoyed. He found himself wishing it hasn't gone well and then scolded himself. Sherlock was his friend and deserved to be happy.

"It was everything a date should be," Sherlock said, knowing it wasn't a proper answer and wondering why he had said it. "I note you have ignored my question. Have you at least eaten something?"

"What's that mean? I mean . . . will you be seeing them again?" Them. He didn't even know if it was a man or a woman. 

"You've been on dates, you know what they are like." Why was John so curious about his date and why wasn't John answering his questions -- perhaps he'd been up to something while Sherlock was away. Now Sherlock wanted to know what it was. His phone buzzed and he picked it up.

_I know you hated it but thanks for coming anyway. Molly_

Sherlock sent a message back before turning to John and asking again, "What did you have for dinner?"

Dinner? John realised he hadn't eaten anything all night. But he was more interested in this date. Why was Sherlock avoiding the questions? "Who was it? When's the second date?" John asked again. The most important question was if Sherlock would be seeing them again. He felt like he disliked this person and he didn't even know who they were.

Sherlock's phone buzzed again.

_I forgot to tell you I've found the file you were asking about. Molly_

_Thank you. Will pick up in the morning. SH_

Sherlock stood up. "I'm not really a dating person, am I, John? But I'll see her tomorrow." He went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. John seemed to be wearing the same clothes he had on when Sherlock left. Had he really been sitting there all night or had he been out of the flat? Why? Where? With whom? "Tea?" Sherlock asked, bending down slightly to see if John had any new smells on him. He thought he smelled wine. "Or . . . have you already had enough to drink this evening?" He moved to the fridge, where he still smelled wine. It was then he realised that _he_ smelled of wine.

Her. The word seemed to deflate John, leaving him a bit empty. He watched Sherlock texting and wondered if it was her. He had a sudden urge to smash Sherlock's phone. "Oh. I . . . that's great," he said finally, trying to sound normal. Casual. "I-I think I'll go up to bed," he added, his stomach growling loudly.

Why was John acting so mysteriously? It really felt like he was hiding something and the more he hid it, the more Sherlock wanted to know. "I've already poured your tea," Sherlock said. He set it down on the table in front of John. He sat down across from him and scanned everything, trying to sort it out. Was it the blog? Had Sherlock forgotten to do something he had said he would do? Was John poorly? He just couldn't tell. Yet. "Why haven't you eaten then?" he asked, watching for every reaction on John's face. 

"Oh," John sat back down and pulled the mug closer. "Thank you." He felt Sherlock looking at him but he watched his tea, swirled it, and took small sips. "I got caught up on the computer and I guess I forgot," he shrugged. "No big deal."

"Hmmm . . . And when I explain why I haven't eaten, do you generally find 'No big deal' an acceptable answer?" He looked down at his tea. "So you didn't go out tonight at all?"

"Well, you do it all the time so it's cause for worry," John countered. He took another sip. "I didn't go anywhere. I didn't have plans tonight." He waited a moment and looked up. "Tell me about your date, that's more interesting," he smiled lightly.

"Is it? Why is it so interesting, to you?" he asked, fiddling with his mug. "You should eat something anyway . . . your body's used to regular meals," he added quietly.

"It's not! To me, I mean. I mean . . . it is because you're my friend and you were out and that's better than being stuck here . . ." he stammered. "I just wondered."

"I didn't realise you hated being here so much. Is that why you're always out chasing women?" Sherlock asked.

"That is not what I meant and you know that," John said quietly, looking up. "I just wondered as your friend. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He drank more of his tea as his stomach growled again. He wished it would shut up. He didn't feel like eating. He just wanted to lay down. 

"There's nothing to talk about, John. It was just a date -- there was dinner, wine, conversation, a red dress, all the usual . . . I don't really know what else to say." He stood up and toasted two slices of bread. He spread butter on them and set them on a plate, which he slid in front of John. "Here, at least eat this," he said, smiling. "Goodness, John, are you going to fall apart and refuse to eat every time I go on a date?" Sherlock looked at John's face. He could tell something was bothering John. Was it Sherlock's date? It seemed like it was his date that was bothering John. Why?

"I guess I won't be eating tomorrow, then," he teased, biting into the toast. "Thanks. I'm just . . . happy for you. Getting out there, meeting new people. It's nice." He hoped that sounded as nice as he meant it to. It sounded forced to him. He hoped that's not how Sherlock heard it. He wanted to be happy for his friend and, at the moment, he didn't know why he felt anything else. It was like Irene all over again. What had bothered him so much about that? The fact that she could capture Sherlock's attention -- much better than John could. He'd been jealous, like he was jealous now. Uh oh. 

"Just eat regardless of whom I'm seeing, yeah?" Sherlock said. He stood up and stretched a little. "Do you want to watch telly or something?" he asked. He felt like things still weren't quite normal, even though he wanted them to be. When he had said yes to Molly, he thought John would be pleased but he actually seemed quite upset and Sherlock still couldn't tell exactly why.

"I'm . . . I'm tired, Sherlock. Staring at the computer for so long and sitting on the hard chair. . ." he trailed off, all of it sounding completely stupid even to his own ears. But he needed to be alone. He needed to think and sort out his head. "I think I'm going to go to bed . . ."

"Okay then," Sherlock said awkwardly. He had thought the dinner would be the worst part of the evening, but he didn't feel that way now. He put the mugs and John's plate into the sink. "I'll see you in the morning, then?" He realised he was _asking_ \-- why? Of course, he'd see John in the morning; he saw him every morning. But it just felt odd now and he wanted to figure out why.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Good night." He smiled and headed up stairs, closing his door and leaning against it. How terribly awkward -- if he didn't get himself together that's how it was going to be and eventually even Sherlock would pick up on that. And what would he say when Sherlock asked what was wrong. _Oh, I know I have dated half of London but if you could never go out again, that would be great. I don't like it much._ He sighed and rubbed his forehead, moving to his bed. He stripped down to his pants and lay down, staring at the ceiling. 

He lived with Sherlock. They were friends. They worked together. He took John on cases with him, they ate dinner together all the time, they texted while John was at work . . . what the hell was he jealous about? It was one date. She wasn't going to take Sherlock away. But what if it got serious? What if he started bringing her on cases and slowly started leaving John behind? John couldn't live here with them if she moved in. Where would he go? He took a deep breath to clear his mind. He was overreacting. But was he? Their second date was the day after the first, like they couldn't wait to see each other. 

John found himself wondering about her again. Who was she? What did she have that had caught the interest of Sherlock? She must be smart. And beautiful. _Of course she would be, look at Sherlock._ John flushed lightly. Sherlock was handsome, even he could admit that. This woman must be incredible. John started to feel empty again and he turned on his side. He hated her. _Sherlock is mine._ John bit his lip at that crazy thought. Sherlock didn't belong to anyone. What the hell was he thinking? _Okay. I_ want _Sherlock to be mine._

Oh. Well. That made more sense. Well . . . it explained the jealousy at least. Since when did he start feeling like that towards Sherlock? How did he feel exactly? He sighed and turned onto his stomach. He knew he wanted to be the one on that date with him. And not just out to dinner, they did that a hundred times. He wanted it to be official. With the candle and everything. Shit. He was supposed to be sorting things out in here and he was only making them worse. How was he supposed to behave now? How could he sit home while Sherlock was on a date with some woman? Did Sherlock even like men? John groaned and buried his head in his pillow.   
  
Sherlock turned off the lights and went up to his room. He climbed on the bed and opened his laptop. He read John's blog -- it was good, he'd got the details right even though he included some non-case related bits, mostly about Sherlock. Why did John find those things interesting? When he had asked in the past, John had always said the readers liked them. Why?

He closed the laptop and looked up at the ceiling. He thought about what had happened this evening.

  1. Molly had asked him to join her, her boyfriend and her friend for dinner. Sherlock didn't want to go but had said yes to be nice to Molly. As John had told him to do. He did not enjoy himself at dinner, but felt okay he had done Molly a favour and that was that.
  2. John was overly curious about the details of his evening and when Sherlock did not give them, he seemed upset. And then when Sherlock did give them, he seemed upset.
  3. The evening ended awkwardly.



Since they'd been living together, John had gone on many dates. When he got back, Sherlock sometimes asked about the dates, sometimes not -- John sometimes talked, sometimes not. Often Sherlock had felt annoyed. He got annoyed when John chose boring women and when John seemed down that the dates had gone poorly -- it was so annoying to see someone as smart as John making bad choices.

But John wasn't annoyed; he was _upset_. It was a subtle difference but an important one. John seemed _hurt_. Why? 

Was it because he had been left out of the whole thing? Maybe Sherlock should have mentioned the date earlier -- was he wrong not to? John didn't always tell him about his dates well in advance and besides it was kind of last minute thing, Molly only mentioned it this morning. John's surprise about the date was obvious.

Did John just want the details so he could blog about them, to 'entertain' his readers or get more hits?

Or was it because they had switched roles: John was the one who went on dates and Sherlock was the one who sat at home. Was he mad that Sherlock had done something unexpected? Was John mad that Sherlock had done something that was previously John's thing? 

Or was it something else? Sherlock considered getting up and going to John's room and just asking him. But he didn't. He had tried to ask in the kitchen and John just answered with more questions. This was confusing to Sherlock and he wished it weren't. He wished he didn't care. But he knew he did.

He got back up to get ready for bed. He crawled back in and tried to turn off his head. Maybe tomorrow things would feel normal again.

When John got up the next day -- a bit late because he's been up so long -- he made himself tea and settled in to read. Sherlock was going out again today. He needed to be ready. He'd mentally prepared himself for it, practised the conversation, the scene, all of it. He would be ready. He would be normal, a good friend, and not awkward. 

When Sherlock awoke, he dressed before going to the kitchen. He smiled at John as he walked by and John smiled back -- perhaps things were back to normal? He turned on the kettle but realised they were out of milk. "We're out of milk," Sherlock announced. He looked at his watch. Molly'd be at work by now; if he nipped to get the file, it'd give him all afternoon to go through it. He sent her a quick text to let her know he was on his way. "I'll go get us some," he said.

"Oh, all right," John said. "You don't usually get milk," he mentioned, not looking up from his book. 

"I do," Sherlock said defensively. "I'm sure I have. Haven't I? It doesn't matter, I'll go get it. I can't drink tea without milk and I need tea to start the day. I'll be back shortly." He grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out. 

He stopped in first to see Molly. She thanked him again for last night. He didn't want to talk about the stupid date anymore so he didn't respond and just asked for the file. He glanced over it and smiled. Molly was a good friend to Sherlock; he should be nicer to her and not just because John told him to. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and said, "Thank you very much, Molly Hooper."

In the taxi home, Sherlock began flicking through the file. It was precisely what he had been hoping it'd be. Molly was brilliant -- he'd go out with one of her stupid friends anytime if it ensured that she'd keep helping him like this.

He quickly headed up to the flat and straight to his room. He shut the door and began spreading the file across his bed.

John waited five minutes before going to Sherlock's room and knocking on the door. He opened it and peeked inside. "I didn't know you were a magician," he said. When Sherlock looked up and gave him a funny look, John grinned. "Are you going to pull the milk from behind my ear?" 

"Right, the milk," Sherlock looked down at the papers and started shuffling them back into the file. "I'm sorry, John, I . . . um forgot, I was thinking about something else." He stood back up and said, "I'll go get it now. I'm sorry. What was I thinking? I need tea. I'll go get it."

"That's okay, I can go if you want," John said, following him to the sitting room. "I'm sure you are busy in there, and you'll have to start getting ready soon. I'll go."

"No, I'll go," Sherlock said. "It's not a big deal. I just made a mistake. You can put that on your blog," he said smiling. "They like it when I make mistakes, don't they?" He gave John a wink and nipped down to the corner shop to get milk.

When he came back, he turned the kettle on again and went into the sitting room. "Here," he said, handing John a small bag. "I got you a pastry."

John flushed lightly when Sherlock winked at him and he curled up in his chair again, trying to focus on his book. He could only think about Sherlock. When he put the small bag in his lap, John couldn't help grinning. "Thanks," he said, opening it up. "Want some?" 

"No, I'm good," he answered. He brought the tea in and set one mug at his desk and one on the table in front of John. He went to his room and got the file. He came back and asked, "Do you mind if I work in here as well? I had a case a while ago via email, and I think I might have something. I can work in my room if you think I'll disturb you."

"No, you can stay here. Just let me know if you need any help," John said. He opened his book and found his focus a bit better now

Sherlock opened the file again but then got up to get his laptop. He worked for quite some time, refilling his tea as needed. After a few hours, he needed a break. He stood up and walked around the room a bit. He looked out the window. He looked at John. "I need a break," he said.

"I won't mind if you turn on the telly or something," John said. It was getting a bit late in the day and John wondered when the date was. Did they meet up already? He wasn't gone very long earlier. But if they met late at night, did that mean someone would be sleeping over? He shook his head lightly and tried to go back to his book. 

"I guess," Sherlock said. He turned on the television and flipped randomly through the channels. It was all boring. "It's all boring," Sherlock said. "How much longer do you think you'll be reading?"

John looked up. "Why does that matter?" he asked, a bit confused. Also a bit angry, but it was subtle. He took a calming breath and tried to remind himself that he was a good friend. 

"I've got all this information in my head now and I need to let it settle. Are we going to get dinner or something?"

"You . . . I thought you were going on your date tonight . . ." John said, looking down at his book and fiddling with the page. "You said you were seeing her today."

"What?" Sherlock said, confused. "I never said I had a date tonight. In fact I specifically acknowledged I wasn't the dating type, didn't I?" He stared at the television. "I did see her this morning. She had something I needed so I went and got it. I didn't realise I had to announce it to you." He suddenly felt a bit annoyed at John -- what was going on?

Not the dating type? Something he needed? John flushed and looked back down at his book. "I just assumed when . . . when you said you were seeing her again you were . . . making an exception," he admitted. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "We can get dinner," he said, trying to sound casual. Normal. They always went to dinner. Just like they would now. 

"Forget it," Sherlock said. "Don't _you_ have a date tonight? _You_ are the one who can go on dates, right? That's _your_ thing, not mine." He stood up from the chair, he felt the tension in his body, a mix of anger and something else . . . confusion. He hated being confused. And John was making him confused which was making him angry. "John, how about I just assure you that I have no intention of ever going out on another date? Would that make you feel better and maybe things, you, can just be normal again?" Sherlock started towards his room, worried that that whatever was going on had already changed them. 

"Sherlock -- " John got up quickly and followed him, grabbing his arm to stop him. "I'm sorry, please . . ." He looked down for a second before taking a breath and meeting his eyes. "It just . . . threw me off and I got worried because . . . there was someone else that might . . . might replace me . . ." He shrugged and looked down. "Of course you can date if you want to. I'm sorry."

Sherlock stopped and said, "John, I don't want to date. I only went on the stupid date for you anyway and would only go again just to get her to give me what I want. I don't understand why this matters. I'm just confused by what's happening here." He didn't look at John, he didn't know what his own face looked like as he spoke and he didn't want to see what John's looked like in reaction. Then quietly he added, "Is that what you're doing on your dates -- looking for someone to replace me?" 

"Are you just meeting her for sex?" John asked bluntly, flushing but meeting his gaze anyways. He was so thrown by the first half of it that he didn't even process the last part.  

"Molly?!?"

"You went on a date with Molly?" John asked, completely confused now. 

"Oh for god's sake, just sit down and let me explain." He motioned for John to sit on the sofa and he sat down next to him.

"Molly asked me to join her and her friend for dinner. She asked me as a favour and you've said before that I should be nicer so I said yes. Molly's boyfriend was there so I suppose it was a kind of double date. It was awkward and boring but I know that Molly appreciated it so I came home thinking, despite feeling awkward and bored, I had done a good thing." He swallowed. "But then you started acting weird and I didn't know what was going on. Molly told me she had got me a copy of a file I was looking for," he motioned to the desk where it was sitting, "so I hurried to pick it up this morning. It was so helpful, I tried to think of last night as a . . . deal. She does do favours for me so I should keep doing them for her, even if it meant another stupid date with one of her stupid friends." He looked over at John. "I didn't have sex with Molly, I can't believe you'd even think that . . . I didn't have sex with anyone."

There. It was all out. Sherlock knew he was now being clear. He hoped John would be equally clear.

"You said . . ." John sighed and dropped his head in his hand for a good minute. "When I was asking about your date you said you were seeing her again today! Were you talking about Molly?" He felt a bit angry because he thought he was being very clear, and Sherlock's answer had kick started a proper identity crisis. "And . . . you kept saying you'd keep seeing her to get what you want . . . don't you realise how . . . suggestive that sounds?"

"Molly _was_ on the date and I _did_ see her today and she _did_ give me what I wanted. I answered your questions truthfully. Quite frankly, John, _you're_ the one who filled the entire story with sex, which makes me wonder what you get up to on your first dates and . . . why you care who I might be shagging in the first place."

"But I wasn't asking about Molly!" John said a bit loudly. He got up from the sofa and started pacing. "I didn't even think about sex until you said you were only going to see her to get what you wanted. If I had known you were seeing Molly then I wouldn't have assumed that. And I only care because . . . I thought that wasn't your area. It surprised me. And if it got serious I would have to move out and we'd never see each other and -- " He cut off suddenly and realised he was saying far too much.

"What are you talking about? I go out on one date and you're worried that I'm trying to replace and get rid of you? You go out on dates all the time -- you've even had second and third and fourth dates! Are you saying this whole time it was all about replacing me, about finding someone to take you away from me? You don't want me to do that to you, but all the while that's what you're looking to do to me?"

"No! Don't you see?" John sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose because this was it. It was all coming out. "I sabotage the dates so I can come home to you. And you're always here and I was used to that. A product of my ridiculous waves of trying to ignore the fact that I might be, at the very least, bisexual and then realising I didn't care if I was." He had started pacing again. "And when I saw you were going out I got jealous. Who was this woman to capture the attention of Sherlock Holmes? Must be pretty great . . . better than I could ever be. I got jealous."

Sherlock was silent. He had not been expecting any of that. Now he was properly confused. "Please sit down. I need to think and your pacing is making it difficult. Just sit down, please."

John sat down on the sofa again and dropped his face in his hands, waiting for Sherlock's response. He had no idea what was going to happen now.

"I need to clarify a few things. Please don't add any more information: just say true or false. Please," he said softly. "You go on dates hoping they won't work out? True or false." 

That was tricky. Maybe he hoped they'd work, but he knew they wouldn't. "True," he said quietly because it was the closest to the truth.

"You don't want me to date anyone?"

John nodded. "True."

"Because you want me to always be here, for you?" 

"With me," John corrected. "True."

"Because you think you might . . . love me?" He swallowed and added, "Or . . . want me? Or . . . both?"

John but his lip and nodded. "Both."

"And this has been in your mind for a little while but the date last night clarified it for you?"

John didn't know if they were still doing the game, but he went with it. "True." For some reason it seemed easier that way. 

Sherlock thought very carefully. "You'd be happy if neither of us went on anymore dates, if it was just me and you and no one else?"

John looked up at him now, nodding. "True."

"Okay, now that I have a better sense of what's actually happening here, I will need to think about it more. It's not women that aren't my area, John, it's emotions and I think you know that. I confess I wasn't expecting this conversation. I don't want to say something I don't mean. I'll need to have a think." He looked over at John, hoping he would understand.

"That said," he continued. "I think we should go get dinner. It's not going to do either of us any good to sit here awkwardly staring at each other or at the walls. Let's do our best to just be our normal selves and we can talk about this another time. Please?"

John listened to his little speech and looked down at his hands again. He could do that. Just dinner with Sherlock, like always. "Okay, yeah," he nodded. "Whatever you need," he smiled softly.

"Good," Sherlock said, smiling at John. "Where to, then?" he said standing up and stretching. "My head is properly full now and I want to get out of this room for a bit."

"Want to go to our usual? If we deviate it might get . . . a bit confusing," John said. After everything they talked about he needed to remember this was not a date. Just dinner with his best friend.

"Angelo's it is then," Sherlock said. He put on his coat but before he opened the door, he turned to John and said, "Listen. This feels big to me and I don't want you to think it doesn't. I am very anxious about what it might all mean to . . . what we have. I am not ignoring it, I really will be thinking. I don't want you to think I'm taking any of this lightly. Will you please trust me?"

"Sherlock, I've known you long enough to know you don't take anything lightly," he smiled. "Of course I trust you . . . I already said before: whatever you need," John assured him.


	2. Sherlock Has A Think

As they walked, Sherlock thought about how things had changed since he met John. Before John, Sherlock was satisfied with the lack of emotion in his life. He didn't miss it. He had no plans to invite it into his world again. Yet, he couldn't deny that John's presence had done just that. He had hurt John's feelings in Dartmoor and he had tried to fix it because he didn't mean to do it. He cared, he cared about John's feelings. That was an emotion.

The whole date really had been inspired by John's constant 'Not good' judgments when Sherlock was insensitive to others. Sherlock didn't want John to see him as 'not good'; he wanted John to see him as good. John's opinion of Sherlock mattered. Surely that too was based in emotion? How had Sherlock not seen what had been going on?

Sherlock now knew he had invited emotion into his life when he invited John into the flat. Surely that meant something. But would that something be good or bad? How different had Sherlock become? 

John stuffed his hands into his pockets as they walked, practically hearing Sherlock's mind working from here. He wished he could make it easier for Sherlock, help him figure it out faster, but he knew that he had to sort it out on his own. Just like John had done. It was still a bit surreal that he loved Sherlock. Because he did love him, didn't he? This wasn't just a crush or simple jealousy. He was in love with the man. John looked over at him and grinned stupidly, quickly looking down again so he wouldn't distract Sherlock. Looking at him like that wasn't going to help anything. He needed to be patient.   

They sat at their usual table at Angelo's. It made Sherlock remember the first time they had come here. He remembered John's questions. He remembered looking at John. He remembered the way John's face looked, the way it made Sherlock certain that John would move in. The way it made Sherlock feel there was something . . . different about John, that he was going to mean something in Sherlock's life.

He looked at John now. He _did_ mean something in Sherlock's life. First it was that John was his flatmate then his colleague then his blogger then his best friend. And now? What did John mean to him now? He thought about the words -- words like boyfriend or lover or partner. But those words didn't seem exactly right.

John was reading the menu, he was moving his tongue on his bottom lip as Sherlock had seen him do a thousand times. He watched John's eyes scan the words and he knew they went into to his brain and bumped into all the other information already in there -- all the emotions that lived in John's brain and made him a good and kind man. And then the right word popped into Sherlock's head.

Everything. That's what John meant to him.

John looked up and did a double take when he saw Sherlock staring. He smiled and put the menu down. "Do you know what you're having then?"

"Um, whatever, spaghetti, I guess," Sherlock said, looking down at his menu. "Sorry, I was looking at you awkwardly. Sorry." He closed his menu and tried to look at John normally. He made a little smile.

"It's fine," John smiled wider. "I think I'll have spaghetti, too."

Sherlock nodded towards Angelo and they put in their food order. "And wine, please, Angelo," Sherlock added. After Angelo walked off, Sherlock said, "Sorry, I thought wine might relax me a little. I'm not going to get stupid drunk -- I thought it might take the edge off. There's a lot in my head . . ."

"Please don't be so nervous, you can get whatever you like," John smiled.

"I'm not nervous, I'm just . . . well, it's different, isn't it? Just a bit . . ." Sherlock said, fiddling with his silverware. "Besides I've also got the case stuff in my head." He reminded John of the email from last week and began explaining the details he'd discovered in the file from Molly.

"Oh right," John nodded. "Keep me updated so I can write the story," he said. Cases were easy to talk about. The hard part was over. Sort of.

Angelo brought the wine and Sherlock poured them each a glass. He took a sip. And then a swallow. He set the glass down. "Do you feel any regret about the things you've said to me today?"

John shook his head. "I'm a bit worried, honestly. I'm worried about how we will live together if you don't feel the same. Not that you have to, of course, but you seem distressed and I didn't want that."

"Distressed?" Sherlock said, surprised. "I don't think I'm distressed about your feelings." He said this even though he wasn't a hundred per cent sure it was true. He took another sip of wine and then blushed, worried that John would now question his drinking. "I'm . . . thinking, John. This is my thinking face, not my distressed face. I am thinking about my feelings -- which doesn't come easy to me -- I mean thinking about them, well, the feelings aren't always easy for me either." Jesus, was the wine having an effect on him? "Listen. If I were distressed by what you said, I would have told you right then and there. I'm not distressed, John. It's . . . quite lovely really. I just need to process it . . . and decide what exactly it is I feel." He smiled awkwardly. "That wasn't one of my better explanations, I'm afraid."

"Okay, I'm sorry," John smiled. "I'll eat and let you think." He made a show of bending over his food and not looking over at him.

"You can look at me, you fool," Sherlock said. "If you feel the way you say you do, you'll have to accept me even when I'm rambling nonsense." He smiled. "I know," Sherlock said, "why don't you ramble for a bit? You know me pretty well. You seem to have a sense of my tastes in people. Try to step back and look objectively at it: do you think that I love you? If you were an outside observer and you spent the day watching us, would you say, 'Yes, definitely the detective loves the blogger'?" Sherlock took another drink of wine.

John shook his head. "I'm not doing that. I'm biased, I know what I want you to feel and I'm not going to push that on you. Please don't make me," he said. If John was honest, it was rather telling that Sherlock hated everyone except him. But that didn't have to mean love. And Sherlock was so . . . extraordinary. God knew what he was thinking.

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "I just didn't want to be the only one talking." He topped up their glasses and ate a little more spaghetti. "You talk now, please."

"Well . . . do you want me to elaborate on anything you asked me earlier?"

"Not necessarily . . . unless you want to. Do you want to?"

"Ask me again and I will answer," John smiled softly.

"John! Just say something, you goof!" Sherlock said, grinning stupidly.

"I was jealous when the woman was here. That's when I first realised. I couldn't stand it." Admitting these things was easier when Sherlock was being silly.

Sherlock laughed. "The woman? I thought you would have fancied her!"

"What? No, she was terrible!" John said. "She drugged you and then kept flirting with you and then tried to trick you and your brother . . . no thanks."

"And that's the kind of thing you think I'd be interested in? A little nudity and flirting and I'm willing to turn a blind eye to the other stuff?" Sherlock asked, smiling. "Don't you know me better than that, John Watson?"

"But she was smart. I mean, the way you are smart. You guys would have been perfect together," John shrugged. "You guys would play crazy mind games and solve ridiculous puzzles together and -- " He cut off and mixed his spaghetti around.

"And work for Moriarty together? Really, John, come on," Sherlock suddenly reached across the table and touched John's hand. He hadn't planned to so he quickly moved his hand back to his side. "So crazy mind games and ridiculous puzzles -- is that your idea of an ideal relationship?" he asked softly.

"No," John said, leaving his hand right there, just in case. "You both were . . . similar . . . and I was jealous because she captured your attention so well. The texting, the sad music when you thought she died, keeping her phone . . ." He shrugged. "You can't tell me there was nothing there."

"I suppose I see your point, I do find intelligent people more interesting," Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair. "But your assumption that that interest must have a sexual component -- I'm not sure I see the world like that."

"Well . . . that tone didn't help. I-I hated it . . ." John said quietly. "And I kept telling myself you didn't have time but you were talking to her more than I knew about, so my jealousy thought what could you guys be doing?"

"And shagging is what you assumed?" Sherlock said, smiling first and then looking more seriously at John. "John, I'm sorry that whole thing made you feel uncomfortable. There was a quite a bit of it I wasn't totally comfortable with. However, you needn't be jealous of her. Or anyone. Let's face it, John, in recent years, there's really only been one person intriguing enough for me to consider a more intimate relationship with, and I'm sitting across from him, considering it right now." He took a sip of wine.

John flushed lightly and picked at his food. "You don't know what that means, Sherlock. Even considering it . . ." He looked up for a second and then back down to his pasta. "You're so amazing. I don't know . . ." He trailed off, embarrassed now.

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" Sherlock said, trying to lighten the mood a little. "I'm not going to eat any more food. Do you mind if I get a cup of tea while you finish?" He lifted his head to catch Angelo's eye. "I'm enjoying this," he said apropos of nothing.

John smiled lightly and nodded. "That's fine," he said. He slowly picked at his food, glancing up every once in a while.

"John, do you think if we were to pretend we hadn't had the conversation we had earlier, that things would stay like this? Or would it be impossible to pretend? I'm not saying I could, I'm just asking for your thoughts. Is it precisely because we've had that conversation that this dinner has been so nice? Is this dinner nicer than last night's?" Sherlock said softly. "I don't know what I'm saying, I guess."

"I think the conversation helped," John admitted. "I think that if we hadn't talked I would have been moody, thinking about the girl you were seeing. But now -- I like this," he smiled.

"Yes, that was all a bit confusing when I couldn't understand what was going on," Sherlock said. "I don't think I want to pretend the conversation never happened." He smiled at John.

"Me neither. You had me so confused," John laughed.

"John, I'm not sure what you want . . . I'm not sure I could give you what you want," Sherlock said softly. He looked down at the table.

"I just want you," John shrugged. "I want you to . . . love me. And whatever happens after that . . . well, we can figure it out."

"But don't you already know I do?" Sherlock said it even though he wasn't exactly sure of the point he was making. "I mean, you know how I am with other people. You know I am different with you. Is that love? Is that what you want?"

"If you want things to stay exactly like it is, yeah," John nodded. "But can it now?"

"But I don't think you want it to stay as exactly as it is, do you?" Sherlock said. "It could, I think, I'm okay with what you've said and what we feel. But I don't think that's what you really want. You want . . . more. Don't you?" 

"Yes," John admitted. He thought about Mycroft's comment at Buckingham and wondered how true it was -- wondered how Sherlock would feel about anything intimate. "But whatever you feel comfortable with is fine with me," he added awkwardly.

Sherlock looked at his wine glass. Perhaps alcohol hadn't been a good idea. Or was this okay, had he decided what he felt about John? Maybe he had -- he seemed to have implied that he did feel the same as they were now moving on to other aspects to . . . less sentimental aspects of the situation. Yes, he supposed he had decided he felt the same way about John.

Sherlock looked up at John and wondered what assumptions John had made about him and sex. That he was completely inexperienced? That he had no interest? Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond to either of those assumptions.

"I just want you to be comfortable. Really, it's all fine, Sherlock," he said.

"I confess, John, that's not always been . . . It's not that I . . . perhaps things would be different with you, because it's . . . you. But it's taking a chance, isn't it? Were it all to go wrong, the rest might be ruined and I wouldn't want that."

John reached out, hesitated, and then pushed through and took his hand. "We can do as much or as little as you want. Slowly. Whatever you don't like we'll stop, yeah?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said, even though what he meant to say was yes.

John almost pulled his hand back but then didn't. "All up to you," John smiled softly.

"Should we head home then?" Sherlock said, his cheeks a bit flushed for a variety of reasons. 

John nodded. He let go of Sherlock's hand to put some money on the table and put his coat back on. "Let's walk back, okay?" John smiled.


	3. Something Happens

Once they were outside, Sherlock wordlessly looped his arm through John's.

John grinned. "Dizzy?" He teased lightly.

"No, just pleasantly tipsy," Sherlock said smiling.

"Oh, all right," John laughed softly.

And a little nervous too, Sherlock thought but didn't say. It seemed odd that they were walking back to the flat, knowing that _something_ was going to happen once they got home. He couldn't quite imagine how it would go. He tried hard to convince himself that the wine gave him permission not to be anxious, that he should be anticipating rather than worrying. But he still did worry a little. In the past, these things had just been so . . . problematic, which is why he had decided they no longer needed to be a part of his life. But John hadn't talked him into anything -- there must be a part of him that thought this might be all right. Just stop thinking, he said to himself, hoping he hadn't said it aloud.

"By the way, I love you too," John said quietly as they walked.

Sherlock blushed but smiled. "John, I want to make sure you understand something. I am a little nervous about going back to the flat. However, it's not because I am anxious you'll make me do something I don't want to happen. I'm anxious, I think, because I want something to happen."

John flushed and smiled. "I want something to happen as well but like I said, slow, okay?" He squeezed Sherlock's arm lightly.

"Right, John, but . . ." Sherlock looked down at the pavement as he walked. "You needn't treat me like I'm an inexperienced teenager." He couldn't tell if he felt defensive or annoyed or neither.

"Sorry," John smiled. "I want you to be comfortable."

Sherlock squeezed John's arm tighter as an apology. "I know," Sherlock said, "but it's already unusual enough what's happening -- let's not make it any weirder. It's just us, right? We've been us before, we know how to do it. It'll just be us doing something new." He smiled -- even though he still felt a bit worried.

"Okay," John smiled. "Something new." That was a good way to think about it. 

Sherlock took off his coat and scarf when they got home and then stood awkwardly in the living room as he watched John take off his own and kick off his shoes. Sherlock didn't know how to stand or what to do with his hands or whether or not to move. Or what. Sherlock had no idea what to do. So he just said, "This is stupid. This is becoming too big of a deal in my head. John, we normally have a cup of tea when we get in. I'm making tea. Do you want some?" He let out an exhale and tried to just be normal as he flipped on the kettle and then went back into the sitting room.

John followed him in and asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Sherlock turned to look at John. "Yes."

John stepped closer and looked up at him. He reached up and grabbed his cheeks, lightly, pulling him down. He pressed his lips to Sherlock's, hard but unmoving. When he pulled away he smiled, holding his eyes. 

Sherlock's response was awkward at first -- it'd been so long since he'd done this, it was like he had forgotten how things work -- but then it came back to him and after John pulled back, he smiled and pulled him closer again for another try. This time Sherlock kissed John, soft at first but deliberate and long.

John kissed him back, trying not to groan and ruin the whole thing. His lips were so soft . . . wonderful.

When the kettle clicked off, Sherlock pulled back from John and smiled. "I'll make the tea." He squeezed John's hand as he headed to the kitchen. 

John smiled and watched him go. He wished they could keep kissing. That was so nice. He sank down in the sofa and waited. 

Sherlock brought the tea into the sitting room and sat down next to John. "Was that okay . . . the kissing, I mean?"

John nodded. "It was. I enjoyed it," he smiled. He sipped at his tea and watched Sherlock happily.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I did as well." He took a drink of tea. "Perhaps we should try it again?"

John grinned stupidly. "Yes please," he nodded. He put his tea on the coffee table and scooted a bit closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock put down his mug and slid his arm across the back of the sofa to John's shoulder. He leaned in and kissed John's mouth. As he did, he slid a little closer and pressed a little harder into the kiss.

John returned the kiss enthusiastically, reaching up to hold Sherlock's cheeks, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Sherlock tipped his head and parted his lips, letting his tongue sneak into John's mouth. His hand moved from John's shoulder to the back of head, gripping his hair softly.

John brought his tongue out to meet Sherlock's, humming softly as they did. He tasted faintly of tobacco, wine, and something that must only be him. John gripped harder, pulling him closer and laying down in the process.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John's face. It was still as handsome, but it was different now, now that Sherlock had kissed it. He smiled at John and put kisses on his cheek. He snuggled himself between John and the back of the sofa and reached down to hold John's hand.

John laced their fingers and grinned. "You're so bloody adorable," he said quietly.

"Shut your face," Sherlock said, squeezing his hand. And then he recognised a very familiar but unwelcome feeling. He shifted on the sofa, sitting up. "I think I'll say good night now, John." He smiled at John and then stood up. "This evening was good. All this has been very, very good." 

"Okay," John said, sitting up as well. Was kissing what he wanted to happen tonight? "Good night, then," he smiled softly. "See you on the morning."


	4. Sherlock Has Another Think

Sherlock went into his room and got into bed. He turned off the light and closed his eyes. He tried not to think. But it was like his eyelids were movie screens and he didn't want to see what was playing. So he opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, trying to memorise its blankness.

He had very much enjoyed kissing John. In fact, he worried he had enjoyed it too much. Because, even though he was the one who had stopped it, he hadn't wanted to stop. In fact, the thought that had come into his mind is that he _never_ wanted to stop. And this worried him. Because Sherlock's real problem was not that he didn't do emotions: it was that he didn't do them well.

He had been like this for as long as he could remember. He didn't have hobbies, he had obsessions. He couldn't just enjoy doing something he liked: he _had_ to do it, had to do it all the time, had to _master_ it, had to _own_ it. Of course when it came to his schoolwork or the violin, this appeared to be a good thing, something his parents were proud of. But even then Sherlock knew something wasn't right: the intensity of the desire outweighed the fun, the enjoyment, until it was almost painful. And as he grew older and the same thing began to happen with his interest in people, he knew there was something terribly wrong. He hadn't just wanted to be someone's friend -- he had wanted to be their best friend, their _only_ friend. And this was not a very good way to be.

Since he couldn't change the feelings, he had to control the things he could have feelings about. He stopped making friends -- no friends meant he didn't have to worry about feeling too much. He poured it all into solving puzzles -- the puzzles of his studies and then eventually the puzzles of crime. When he had a case, he could allow the extremes to run rampant -- he wouldn't sleep or eat, his blood could course with the excitement. His emotion could be extreme because it was entirely appropriately to hate a criminal. And with him tucked away in his flat, no one would know that just how extreme that hatred was, just how obsessively Sherlock felt that feeling.

And then came John. Who was different from the start. And Sherlock had invited him into his life, without thinking really, without thinking of the possible consequences. Perhaps he had thought that John's difference meant that when they became friends, they could just be normal friends. Perhaps whatever it was about John just made Sherlock hope that could happen. And he thought that maybe it had. 

But he could see now that it hadn't. John felt more about Sherlock and tonight, when he told him about his feelings, Sherlock had to face that he too felt more. And now he worried that he was still the same. No matter how hard he had tried to delete that part of him, no matter how hard he had worked to avoid the opportunity to feel so intensely about another person, it appears that that was precisely what had happened.

And it wasn't just a person, it was John. John, whom he worked and lived with. John who was now lying on a bed in a room just footsteps away from Sherlock. How easy it would be for Sherlock to stand up and walk into that room and kiss John again. It would be so easy and it was what Sherlock wanted to do right now.

But that desire, Sherlock feared, would have consequences. Sherlock's emotions always had consequences and they were never good. He worried that desire would destroy everything.

In his room John kept playing the kiss over and over, unable to believe it had actually happened. Unable to believe the whole night had happened. He kept licking his lips and wishing they could have kept going, even if all they did was kiss. He didn't mind going slow. The fact that Sherlock felt the same way was enough. John would do anything to make him happy.

He thought about Sherlock in his room, wondered if he was sleeping or thinking about the night, or even future nights, and he smiled wider. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, wanting to hurry up and see him again.

Sherlock did not sleep much. He stared at the ceiling and then the wall and then the ceiling again and when he finally closed his eyes, he felt like he was staring at all the images of all the mistakes his emotions had caused in his life.

After suffering through that, he finally sat up in bed and decided he had to solve this. Like he did with cases, he pasted all the clues, all the elements, on to a wall in his mind so he could see it laid out in front of him. The first, of course, was John.

John was his best friend. He loved John. There was no doubt in his mind that this was true. It was too late: nothing Mycroft or Sherlock's past experiences had ever told him could change that now. He loved John.

However, there was also a row of other elements, other things and people that Sherlock had loved, and there were big black X's across all of them. He flicked back and forth between those images and John and wondered if it meant that John was destined to end up crossed out as well.

Sherlock couldn't stop the fact that he already loved John, but perhaps he could control how he expressed that love. He thought back to when he was younger, when he first made a friend, when he first felt that intensity about another person. What would have happened if he hadn't said anything, if he hadn't acted the way he had? Perhaps they could have had a normal friendship: the boy would have been none the wiser and Sherlock could have saved all his obsessive thoughts and actions to express alone in his mind palace where it was safe for him to be however he wanted to be.

He sat for a few more hours, pondering every other scenario he could think of -- asking John to move out, Sherlock moving out, Sherlock just disappearing forever from John's life, going ahead with a relationship and just hoping it wouldn't be the same. All of those options seemed too painful or too risky. In the end, he decided there was only one choice: as long as he didn't act on his love for John, things might be okay.

John fell asleep thinking about Sherlock, but his mind remained blank. He woke up feeling very well rested and hurried out of bed like a child on Christmas. Maybe they could have another date tonight. He wondered how Sherlock would feel about seeing a movie, maybe get dinner after? Or just dinner. John didn't care. He went into the kitchen and started the kettle, hoping that he would get up soon. 

When Sherlock heard John get up, his first instinct was to stay in bed. He could lock the door, pull up the covers and feign sickness. But as childish as Sherlock often was, he knew this was no solution. He lived with John; he wouldn't be able to hide forever.

He went over everything in his head once more. If only he had thought of this option earlier, with that first boy, he would know whether or not it would work. But he hadn't. Which meant he had to test it with John, with a relationship so much more important, a situation in which Sherlock had so much more to lose.

It didn't matter, he told himself, this was the only option. Clearly two days ago you loved John, the voice in his head said, but you were able to behave (mostly) appropriately, you were able to maintain (mostly) normal boundaries. The only difference now is that it'd been spoken. All Sherlock had to do was ignore the fact they'd talked about their feelings and behave like he did two days ago and everything would be okay. 

Obviously that'd be easier said than done. And the truth was the conversation _wasn't_ the only difference. There was also the kissing. And for just a few seconds, Sherlock let himself think of the kissing. Of the softness of John's mouth, of the sensation of his body on John's, of the feel of John's hand in his. And immediately that obsessive desire was back, like an addiction, and Sherlock knew what he had to do. He could never allow himself to behave that way. He had to keep that desire only in his head and never act on it again. 

He stood up, put on his dressing gown and left his bedroom, as sure as he could be that this was the only way their friendship could be saved.


	5. Sherlock Confuses John Again

John smiled when he saw Sherlock, setting his mug down on the table. "Morning," he said, hesitating before leaning up to peck a kiss on his lips. He felt Sherlock tense and he didn't kiss back. John flushed lightly and stepped back. Maybe that was too much -- or too soon for that sort of casual affection. "Um . . . I just made the tea," he mumbled stupidly. "Uh, did you sleep well?" he asked, looking up again. 

When John smiled at Sherlock, he smiled back. It was instinctive but then he told himself, of course, a smile is okay. He would have smiled at John last week, why shouldn't he today? But when John leaned in and kissed him, that wasn't something they did last week. He did what he had planned: which was nothing, he did nothing. If he had pulled back and said no, John would have insisted on talking and Sherlock did not want that. Inwardly, Sherlock memorised the kiss so he could think of it later, alone where it was safe. But outwardly he did nothing.

"Not really, if I'm honest, I've a lot of my mind . . . the case, I mean," Sherlock was pleased that his voice sounded normal. "Thanks for the tea -- is this one mine or do I need to pour my own?"

"I . . . that one is yours, yeah. Mine's there," he said as he pointed to the counter. He moved over to it and stared down at it. What was happening? Something was different . . . off. He looked over at Sherlock again. "Um . . . I was wondering if you wanted to see a movie tonight? Like, go out, I mean? Or just dinner again?"

"No, I'm not interested in movies really," Sherlock said, mindful of every second of silence. "Can we just decide about dinner later today? I don't know if I'll be hungry -- you know how I get when I'm working." He took a sip of tea.

"Yeah, okay," John nodded. He took his tea and moved into the sitting room, sitting on his chair instead of the sofa. Had Sherlock changed his mind? Maybe all of the kissing last night was too much and it scared him off. John would have to back off a bit, take it even more slowly. He could do that. 

So far, so good, Sherlock thought. He picked up the newspaper and moved into the sitting room to the sofa. He flicked through the paper. "What are your plans for the day?" he asked without looking up.

"Well, I have the day off so . . . I'll probably type out a couple cases that I haven't done yet. Maybe read for a bit," John said. "Yours?" He hated asking, knowing that it implied they had different plans for the day. 

"The case," Sherlock said, still not looking up.

"Will you be going out?"

"Possibly, more reading first, we'll see where it leads me," Sherlock said. "Has the post come yet?"

"I haven't checked," John said. "Look --" he opened his mouth to apologise for last night but he cut short. He had given Sherlock every opportunity to back out if he was uncomfortable. He didn't. There was no logical explanation for his behaviour. John stood up suddenly. "I think I'll go into work for a bit, put in some extra hours," he said. He took his mug to the sink and went upstairs to change. 

Sherlock watched John go up. It hadn't felt exactly okay, but maybe it would be all right. He moved over to his desk and began sorting through his stuff, trying to organise the information he had read yesterday. He thought about John up in his room. For a moment in his head, he imagined going up there, apologising and letting John kiss him as he had done last night. But no. That wasn't an option.

John changed his clothes and wondered where he would actually go since he couldn't actually go in on his day off. There would be another doctor there. It would be pointless. But he couldn't stay here. It was awkward and strange and he was realising that he felt angry. Angry and hurt. He stormed downstairs a bit more loudly than he meant to and put on his coat. He didn't even say goodbye as he left, slamming the door. He'd go to the park for now and figure it out from there. 

Sherlock watched John leave. He knew John was angry and, while he couldn't blame him, he couldn't have John angry. An angry John would want to talk this out, and there was no way that Sherlock would be able to properly explain things. He would have to do something to fix John's anger. He'd give John a little time to cool down, which would give him a little time to come up with a plan. He tried to go back to focusing on the case. 

After an hour or so, he picked up his phone.

_What time will you be back? Do you want to bring home Chinese for dinner? SH_

_I'm grabbing something out with Greg. Sorry. -JW_

John was sitting in Lestrade's office, waiting for him to finish up so they could go to the pub. He knew it was silly -- it's not like he could stay away forever. He'd have to face Sherlock soon, and Sherlock would know he was angry, but John knew that Sherlock was acting different as well. He wouldn't ask John what was wrong, because John would then ask him what was wrong and Sherlock hated talking about things like that.

John's message was not what Sherlock wanted to see, but he supposed perhaps it would be easier if they weren't together. Maybe when John got back, he wouldn't be angry, maybe he'd be over the whole thing. Of course, that wouldn't happen, he told himself. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy.

Because Sherlock knew John, he knew what kind of man he was. John would have never opened up and told Sherlock his feelings if it had just been a whim. And John's feelings were never whims. If John said he loved Sherlock, he loved Sherlock and at some point, Sherlock would have to explain why he was now behaving in the way he was. But Sherlock couldn't face that right now, not today. He needed to feel more confident about his decision, more confident that he could control his behaviour, more confident that it would work. If it didn't work, he feared that conversation with John would have to involve saying goodbye. Sherlock felt his eyes get wet just at the thought of that.

He set the papers aside. He made himself another cup of tea and stood at the window for a few minutes. It was a bit grey and damp out, and Sherlock felt glad to be inside. He turned and glanced at John's bedroom door. He walked up to it and pushed it open. He stood at the doorway and looked, before stepping in.

John's room felt different to the rest of the flat. It was all John, not influenced or dominated by Sherlock or his things like most of the other rooms were. He sat down on John's bed and took a sip of tea. This is where John slept each night. He set his mug down on the bedside table and lay down on the bed. He imagined John sleeping here, wondered how he slept -- flat on his back, curled up, did he move in his sleep? Sherlock imagined lying beside John in this bed, reaching over and kissing John's sleeping face, moving his hands on John's body. It's what he wanted and what he thought John wanted too. But it wouldn't be enough for Sherlock. He would want more, he would want everything, he would want all of John to be only his all of the time. And Sherlock knew that was not the kind of man John was -- John would never allow someone to smother him in that way. And ironically, that fact in and of itself was one of the reasons Sherlock loved him. Sherlock moved his arms over the duvet, just being in John's space. He turned his head and smelled John on the pillow. He filed all of this away in his head and then, before it became too much, he stood up, smoothed John's bed so his presence wouldn't be noticed, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

He lay down on the sofa and turned on the television. Whether it was the boring programme, his lack of sleep and the relief that at least for a few hours he wouldn't have to be on guard over his feelings, he quickly fell asleep. 

John went to the pub with Greg and they had a couple beers, talking about his recent cases. When he asked about Sherlock John hesitated about telling him what was going on. Why mention the conversation -- the kiss -- when it was clearly never happening again? John shrugged and simply said that he was working on something from his email and too busy to come out. When they were finished Greg offered him a ride but John declined, wanting to walk home and sort out his thoughts. 

He took a deep breath and tried to come up with some kind of logical reason for Sherlock's sudden change in behaviour. It didn't make any sense. Yesterday everything had been so good, and today it was completely different. Had Sherlock wanted more? Or had it been too much? Why couldn't Sherlock just talk to him? Things would be so much easier if he would just tell John what was bothering him so that he could stop, or fix it, or change something. But he was so stubborn.  

He passed the Chinese place and gave it a dirty look before stopping just after it. Guilt was bubbling in his chest. How could he be mad at Sherlock for not talking to him when he himself had stormed out of the place like a child? He went into the Chinese place and got Sherlock's usual, hurrying home a bit faster. Maybe if he started talking first, Sherlock might open up a bit and share something as well. But when he walked into the flat he paused, looking at Sherlock sleeping on the sofa. He watched him for a moment, hating himself more for how he left before now that they couldn't resolve it. He set the box on the coffee table in front of him and went up to his room. 

He toed off his shoes and tossed his jacket on the chair in the corner. He stripped down to his pants and got into bed, pulling the covers up and staring at the ceiling. He thought the sheets smelled lightly of Sherlock and his mind went off racing with scenarios. He was in for another long night.  

Sherlock shifted in his sleep at John's movement, but it wasn't until the smell of food made its way to his brain that he woke up. By then, John was gone. Sherlock sat up and opened the box. He stood up and got a fork and a glass of water and then turned off the lights and took the food to his room. He sat down on the bed and started to eat a bit.

Why did John have to make things so difficult? His retiring to his room meant he was still upset but even upset, he was still thoughtful, he was still taking care of Sherlock. Why did he have to be so . . . good?  
  
But that was stupid. It wasn't John who was making things difficult, it was Sherlock and he knew it. If only he could be normal, he and John could be together. But he wasn't normal and just wanting to be wouldn't make him that way. He hated this part of himself. He almost wished they had never met, that he could have just stayed in the little cage he had built for himself. But that was stupid as well. John had brought so much good to Sherlock. He really loved John -- how could he wish that away? He picked up his phone.

_Thank you. SH_

Sherlock moved the box of food to the floor and lay down on the bed.

John heard his phone buzz from his coat and he got up to get it, reading the text as he sat down. He shook the phone and looked around the room, trying to decide if he should go downstairs and talk to him or not. He picked up his tea and took a sip -- wincing and looking down at it. The tea was freezing -- and actually, now that he thought about it, he never made any tea. Had Sherlock left this for him? No -- it was in Sherlock's mug.

John was confused more than anything. He opened the text Sherlock sent and typed quickly. 

_Why were you in my room? -JW_

Sherlock panicked at the message. How did John know? He had done his best to smooth the bed, he had tried to be careful. Jesus, Sherlock, he thought, why did you even go in there in the first place? You were supposed to be controlling your behaviour. From now on, he'd have to do better and not even think of his feelings about John unless he was locked away alone in his room.

_Just testing your powers of observation. SH_

He knew this was an absolutely pathetic response, but that was precisely how Sherlock would describe himself at the moment. 

_No. You would have done something subtle. Not leave your mug on the bloody bedside table. -JW_

But Sherlock would do something crazy like that. John looked around in case he'd missed something -- in case the mug on his table was put there to throw him off and distract him. Besides the mug, the only difference was the scent on his sheets. Was that the true test?

 _You sat on my bed. -JW_

_Well done. You've just earned your amateur detective badge. You can sew it onto your Cub Scout uniform tomorrow. :) SH_

A smiley face? Had he really typed a smiley face? God, Sherlock thought, you have _got_ to pull yourself together.

_What is this about, Sherlock? What is going on? -JW_

He hoped that texting might be easier for Sherlock to say things he wouldn't normally say to John's face. It wasn't ideal, but if John could get answers he wouldn't mind. 

God, Sherlock thought. Could he do this now? Should he explain? Could he explain? Not really, not the truth. John couldn't understand, wouldn't believe him. This wasn't about Sherlock being nervous about a new aspect of their relationship; it was about Sherlock protecting John . . . and himself.

_I'm sorry I upset you today. I didn't want to, but I know I did. I'm sorry. SH_

_Why, Sherlock? What happened? If I did anything to upset you -- I didn't mean to move so quickly. -JW_

_It's not you. It's me. I should have thought more before I acted. I'm sorry. SH_

_Before you acted today? Or yesterday? -JW_

_Last night. I shouldn't have let that happen. I'm sorry. SH_

John's heart stopped for a good minute. At least that's what it felt like. His stomach twisted unpleasantly and he stared at the message. Is that how easy it was for him? John couldn't even answer. He didn't know what to say. If it had been just a date, or even just the kiss, he could let that go. But Sherlock had said he loved John. What had changed so suddenly? That's what he should ask, but suddenly he threw the phone at the wall. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, cursing his temper. 


	6. Sherlock Tries To Explain

Sherlock heard a noise from John's room and wondered if it was his door, if John was coming down to see him. His stomach dropped and he realised he literally felt fear. But John didn't come to his room. If Sherlock needed any proof he couldn't handle being in a relationship, this was it -- apparently he couldn't even apologise clearly.

_It was all true, John. But it's unwise for us to go further. I'm sorry if I've made it worse. I'm sorry. SH_

John heard the buzz and realised he hadn't actually broken the phone. He picked it up and read the message, shaking his head again. This wasn't getting them anywhere. He put on his dressing gown and went downstairs. He didn't knock on Sherlock's door, just spoke through it. "Don't tell me it was all true and then treat me like this. If you love -- or loved -- me, you would tell me what I did wrong. How did I mess this up? What changed from yesterday to today?" All the anger from upstairs had disappeared and now his voice was soft and sad. He hated it, but he couldn't help it.  

Sherlock stood up, his stomach hurting so much he thought he might be sick. He walked to the door but didn't open it. He knew this wasn't going to pass. He knew he'd have to try to explain.

"John," Sherlock said softly through the door. "You have never seen how I am when I love someone. I have. It isn't good. I'm not good at it. I will hurt you, John, and I don't want to do that. Don't tell me I won't -- I _know_ I will, regardless of whether I intend to. One day since I told you I loved you, and I've already hurt you. What more proof do you need? I'm sorry, John. Let's stop this before . . . I do more damage."

"I'm not hurt because you love me, you idiot, I'm hurt because you are pretending like it never happened. You were short and cold with me and I didn't deserve that. Whatever you're afraid of, you can talk to me and we can work it out. I want to help . . ." John leaned against the door and sighed softly.  

"John," Sherlock sighed. "That's my point. Despite loving you, I'm behaving in a way that hurts you. Already. Day one. It's only going to get worse. Talking isn't going to work it out. I _know_ what's going to happen, and I stayed up all last night trying to figure out a way to avoid it. This is the only way." He hated this. He hated what he was doing to John. He hated what he knew he had to give away to protect them. 

"You're behaving this way because you're trying to force yourself to stop," John mumbled. "I don't think I can go back to how it was, Sherlock. Not having said what I said and knowing what I know about you -- about how you feel. If you're going to be short with me then . . . it'd be best if I just moved out." His vision blurred at the thought of leaving, of never seeing him again, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stay. How could they be regular friends again?

"John," Sherlock said softly. He realised he was crying. "You're breaking my heart. I don't want you to go . . ." It was true, it was so true. The thought of John leaving was just too painful. But the thought of hurting John with his obsessive behaviour was equally painful. "If I try to explain so you'll believe me, do you think you might be able to stay? I don't want to lose you, John. What can I do? I could try to help you understand if you think you might be willing to stay . . ."

John wiped his eyes hard. "I just want to understand, please?" John asked, turning to face the door, touching it lightly. 

Sherlock stepped back from the door. He reached over and turned out the lamp so the room was dark and then lay down on the far side of the bed. "Come in, please," he said and turned his body away from the door.

John pushed the door open and, at first, was surprised by the darkness. But then he was grateful for it, his eyes always turned embarrassingly red when he cried. He closed it again and made his way slowly to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He wanted to say something but nothing would come out. He fiddled with his hands nervously. 

"Why do people become addicts, John? You are a doctor, you must know the answer. Because drugs bring them pleasure and the more they take drugs, the more they want that pleasure. Even by the second fix, they know they want, need more than the first. Because they are _never_ satisfied. They are always chasing more. The consequences to themselves or others become irrelevant. Why do addicts die, John? Because they overdose. They think they're just looking for a high but they're not. They _overdose_ , because it's not the high they want, it's the chase. It's the obsession."

John's brows furrowed and for one wild moment, John thought that he was going to admit to taking drugs again. But then he didn't, and John was confused. "Sherlock, I'm sorry . . . I don't understand," he said lamely. 

"I am an addict, John. I never have enough. The things I love -- I cannot just have one dose. I will overdose. The consequences become irrelevant. You got me high last night, and immediately, the chase began. I will need more; at first, you'll think you can give it to me. But you won't be able to. I'm an addict, John. I will _never_ have enough." He swallowed. "I will hurt you, John. I guarantee it. Because that's what addicts do."

"You're worried you're going to love me too much?" he asked. "I don't see how that would be a bad thing . . ." 

"I know you don't, John," Sherlock said. "But I do. At the beginning it will all seem fine, even nice maybe, because it'll be new and exciting. But I'll need more. I will take and take. It won't be love, John, it'll become an obsession, and it will smother you and destroy everything."

"Will you tell me what happened the first time?" John asked quietly, trying to better understand. Sherlock was making himself sound like a killer . . . like he'd tie John up in his room and never let him go. Sherlock was obsessive, but not dangerously.

"It's not about the first time, John, it's about _every_ time. That's what happens when I feel emotions. When I love something -- or someone -- I cannot get enough and will do stupid things, make stupid decisions -- because of the chase. You didn't know me during my drug days, John, but do you remember what you said when you found out? You couldn't believe it. Why? Because I'm too clever? But it was true, despite your not believing it. It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't have to -- it's out of a person's control. Even the clever ones like me, who think they can control everything, we're helpless against it." 

This was so painful. He wished that John would just believe him, but he also knew there's no chance he would consider staying unless he really could understand. So he kept trying.

"It will start out okay. You won't even notice maybe, because it will be fun, pleasurable, because love is. Just like drugs are. But then I'll need more from you. I'll need more of your time. More of your attention. I'll be upset if you give it to someone else, anything else -- the time you spend at work? That should be time spent with me. The attention you give to the blog -- that should be attention you give to me. Maybe you'll go along with it, until one day you wake up and realise that there is no more John Watson, that you've given me everything. That twenty four hours a day, you do nothing but try to give me what I need. But you know what, John? It won't be enough. I'll need twenty five. Because I'll never have enough. That's how I am with emotions, John. And that is why it is better if I don't act on them."

John swallowed hard and nodded. "So . . . you want me to stay here and watch you suffer as you try to withdraw from your feelings? Watch you slowly drift further away from me?" He got up and moved around the bed, kneeling on the ground and looking up at him. "Wouldn't you rather I stayed, and we worked together to fix that? Let me show you how to love without smothering? We can go slow and figure it out . . ."

He wanted to reach up and hold his hand or touch his shoulder but he couldn't at the moment, not with this sort of conversation going on.

Sherlock looked at John and suddenly he was overwhelmed and he spoke in voice he barely recognised. "Don't you think that's what I want, John? Last night at dinner, all I thought about was how happy being with you made me -- I didn't even think of any of this until after . . . But just wanting it to be like that doesn't make it so. I'm so afraid of what could happen, of ruining everything, of hurting you, of losing you. I'm . . . afraid, John."

"But . . . you can tell me when -- when it's getting bad and -- and I will help you," John said, his voice starting to break again. He sat down on the ground and buried his face in his hands. "I can help you," he repeated.

"Isn't that what everyone says, John? 'This time it'll be different' . . . 'I can make it right' . . ." John must know that was true: no one, except Sherlock obviously, ever starts a relationship by saying 'I'll hurt you one day' yet that's usually what ends up happening. It's easy to make promises, to see things as special at the beginning. Was John just being starry-eyed? At the same time, Sherlock knew it wasn't an entirely fair thing to say, because John _was_ different. If anyone in the world could help him, it probably would be John. But the problem was that Sherlock had no faith that he himself could be different. "And what if you can't . . . what might I put you through before you realise you can't take anymore?"

"You won't even let me try?" John asked quietly. He didn't want to give up so easily. Not on Sherlock. Now that he knew what it could be like, he wanted it. Wanted to try.

In all honesty, Sherlock felt sick. There were too many voices in his head and he did not know which one to listen to.

John's voice. Sherlock looked at John, John who was practically on his knees begging. John was not a stupid man; he had listened to Sherlock and was still hopeful. Sherlock loved him. He knew he did, that was never in doubt.

But then he heard his own voice -- his own voice saying horribly inappropriate things to other people he had loved. And he heard their voices and words like 'trapped' and 'smothered' and 'crazy' and 'go'. He never wanted he and John to speak to each other like that. 

And, of course, Mycroft's voice was there, too.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do," he said softly to all the voices in his head.

John got up on his knees and, slowly, reached out to pet his hair. "I won't force you. I won't leave, okay? I'm sorry. Whatever you decide, I won't leave. I didn't mean it. I'll help however you want me to, okay?" He murmured softly, petting his hair. 

"John," Sherlock said, turning to look him. His voice was like a child's, he felt like a child, but at this moment, that felt all right and what he really wanted was for John to take care of him, to look after him. He wanted comfort. Just for this moment. He didn't want to have to figure out the rest right now. He wanted John to pet him, to comfort him. He tipped his head a little and reached out to hold John's other hand. He softly repeated John's name.

"It's okay," John said quietly. He pet his hair and stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. "I'm sorry. It's okay now . . ."

"Lie down by me," Sherlock said.

John let go of him and moved around the bed, climbing in and lying on his side to face him.

Sherlock faced John and put his hand onto John's arm and held it. "Don't you think you should be more worried about this, John? Don't you believe me about how badly this could go wrong?"

"I do believe you, but I am having a hard time believing that you would willingly hurt me. And accidental hurting happens all the time. We talk about it, fix it, forgive, and move on. I've known you for a long time, and I've seen all sorts of personalities come out of you. What do you think you'll do? Has something happened before?" He brought his other hand over and covered Sherlock's, watching him carefully. In all honesty he was a bit scared, not for himself but for Sherlock. He seemed so scared and John didn't like not being able to fix it.

"I do try to keep it in check, John, but . . . you've seen me with cases. It's got a purpose then, I guess, so it doesn't seem as bad. But no sleep, no food, just . . . me demanding more attention than you could possibly give me. You'll hate it, John, and then you'll hate me. I'm not very skilled at emotions. It's always . . . an extreme."

"Sherlock, I don't think you realise that you sort of do that now," John said gently. "Calling me home from dates, making me skip work for cases, taking me on cases with you -- don't you see that I love that? I love that you want me so much because you don't want anyone. I feel special. I love spending time with you. More of it would only make me happier . . ."

"You don't even know what you're saying. That proves my point -- I didn't even know I loved you and look how I behaved. I wish you would believe me: it might seem good but I don't think it will end up that way." His hand was now stroking John's arm. When he noticed it, he realised the plan had been abandoned. Despite his fears, it seemed like this was going to happen. This was his last chance to stop it and Sherlock knew he wasn't going to.

John took a slow breath and nodded. "If you really don't want this, than we will go back to regular friends. I told you that I wouldn't force you. But that means . . " John paused. He couldn't threaten to leave even though he didn't know how he could stay. ". . . I'll sleep in my own room, and we'll go back to normal dinners, and we'll be friends." His heart was breaking, but that last thing he wanted to do was hurt Sherlock.

"Don't say I don't want this. Don't you know the whole reason for all this mess is because I _do_ want this. For god's sake, not wanting it would have been so much easier -- I could have politely declined and I'd never have had to humiliate myself like this." He dipped his head to avoid having to look at John, or rather to avoid being seen by John. "I do want this. I want you to sleep by me. I love you."

"But you're pushing me away . . . I understand you probably want this too much, I do, but if you're going to be scared and paranoid and miserable all the time than we can just be friends. Friends love each other, too." He knew that was a lame thing to say, even if it was true, because they both knew that's not the kind of love they felt. "I love you, too, Sherlock, and I want you to be happy."

Sherlock rolled onto his back and moved his hands onto his chest. "It's not that kind of love, John. It's not friend love. That's not what I want. But I don't know how to not also be scared. I feel both."

"I don't want you to be, but I don't know how to help you," John admitted quietly. 

"Well . . . thanks for nothing," he said and he smiled and turned to look at John. For just a minute, he wanted things to be lighter, more normal.


	7. Something Else Happens

Sherlock sighed loudly. "Listen to me, this evening has been exhausting. I am exhausted. We have to come to some conclusion, I can't take any more of this." He turned back onto his side and faced John. "After all that's been said, it feels like we've got three choices: one of us leaves the flat," he paused and looked at John, "which it appears neither of us wants to do. Two, we could get high and in renewing my old addiction, perhaps it would keep me from obsessing about you. Or three," he slid just a little bit closer to John, "we could just stop talking." He put his hand back on John's arm.

"Three," John said reluctantly. "But we finish talking tomorrow," he added.

"No, John," Sherlock said. "If we go for three, it means the conversation is done. I don't want to keep telling you that I'm afraid and you tell me not to be and I say you don't understand and you say it'll be okay and I say I'm afraid and you tell me not to be . . . it's not solving anything." He shifted just a bit closer again and tightened his hold on John's arm. "If we choose three, it means . . . we're going to give this a go. We stop talking about what might happen and we give it a go. When, if, it starts to go wrong, then we talk about that." He paused. "What do you think?"

"Okay," John agreed. "I want to give it a try, too."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Fine, good, we're boyfriends now. Everything is fine. Good." He sat up slightly on the bed. "Get your kit off then."

John grinned and shook his head. "A bit forward, don't you think?" He got up on his elbow and raised his brows at Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said, "I am a bit forward, don't you think? Or maybe you've not sussed me out yet? I am extremely forward actually. Especially when it comes to someone I know rather well, having already lived with him now for quite some time. I have very high expectations of my boyfriends. Perhaps you should have asked more questions before you invested so much energy in wearing down my defenses." Sherlock had now slid back down on the bed and was playfully fiddling with the buttons of John's shirt.

"And I'd thought I'd have to take it slow with you," John laughed softly. "One date and you're tearing my clothes off!"

Sherlock pulled his hand back, but dropped his other one softly into John's hair. "And do you want me to take it slow with you?" he asked seductively.

John shook his head. "You can do whatever you want to me," he smiled. He pulled Sherlock's hand back to his shirt and patted it to make it go again.

Sherlock flicked open a button. "Just . . . you know," Sherlock said, "tell me what I need to know if you don't like something." He leaned in and kissed John again, like last night, except longer and harder as he pulled on the buttons and then slid his hand onto John's chest. The skin was warm and soft and a place on John Sherlock had never touched before. His hand in John's hair gripped the back of his head. 

John moaned softly into the kiss, arching into Sherlock's hands and pulling at his shirt. He pulled away long enough to tug his shirt off before finding his lips again, touching everything he could. 

This kiss was a little rougher -- after all they'd gone through today, it felt more urgent. Sherlock did his best not to think and instead just moved harder into it, pressing their chests together as he slid his arms around John's back.

John moaned louder and moved his hands down Sherlock's sides, gripping his hips hard before moving up Sherlock's back. His fingers dipped into the muscles and John wanted to memorise every inch of him. He bent one of his knees so that Sherlock fell comfortably between his legs.   

Sherlock pressed into John, moving him onto his back. It felt good feeling John beneath him. He tried to focus on kissing, on moving his lips over John's mouth and face to his ear and neck as his hands tangled in John's hair. But, without even thinking, Sherlock could feel his hips begin to rock against John and his cock grow hard from the movement.

John was panting softly as Sherlock's mouth moved everywhere. And then his hips rocked and John let out a barely audible noise. He planted his heels and bucked into Sherlock, moaning his name softly. "You're so sexy," he murmured. 

"You have no idea," Sherlock said, even though he wasn't sure what he meant by it. He kissed John hard again and then went back to his neck, sucking the skin into his mouth and nipping at it. "You're doing things to me, John," he whispered roughly, "I don't want to stop . . . but tell me when you want me to."

John moaned softly and shook his head. "I don't want you to," he said. He was bucking up regularly now, grinding himself almost crudely against Sherlock. There were too many things between them. John started to tug at Sherlock's trousers, working the button open quickly and pushing them down. 

Sherlock slid to the side of John and began taking off his the rest of his clothes. "Take yours off, John," he commanded. He started to pull back the blankets -- he wanted John in his sheets, he wanted them to smell of John. He reached for John's head and turned it towards him, kissing his mouth hard as he slid his hand down his cheek and neck across his chest to his hip, which he gripped. Then he moved back onto John. As their cocks pressed against each other, Sherlock gasped. "God, John, I want you so much." His voice was breathy and his pulse was fast. 

John was panting fast and hard, heat flooding every nerve in his body as Sherlock threw out orders, touched everything, and climbed back up. It was almost overwhelming but he let himself go, letting it take him and he soon found he was gripping just as hard, bucking just as enthusiastically and nodded. "Yes . . . fuck, Sherlock," he moaned softly. "I want you, too."  

Sherlock bucked against John, his hands moving up and down John's sides then up to John's face. He held his head as he leaned down and kissed him. Then he looked into John's eyes and asked, "John, have you done this before?"

John shook his head. "Only my fingers a couple times, because I was curious," he admitted, feeling his cheeks burning. His fingers were digging into Sherlock's skin, on his back down by his hips. 

"I know what I'm doing, I'll take care of you, but if you want to stop, say," he leaned over and stretched to reach the bedside cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of lube. "Condom?" he asked. "I'm clean, you know I get tested. Are you? If you want, I'll use one, it doesn't matter, just tell me."

"I haven't had sex with anyone in a while," he said. "I'm clean too, but it you want to use one anyways I won't be offended," John rambled. His mind was speeding off to what was going to be happening and he couldn't control his mouth at the moment. 

"As long as you're being truthful, I'm okay without," Sherlock said. He shifted slightly, kneeling between John's legs. Sherlock grabbed his hand and moved it to John's cock, "Concentrate on this." Sherlock watched John stroke himself and then did the same to himself for a few minutes. He closed his eyes and thought about what they were going to do. Then he opened his eyes, poured some lube into his hand and stroked himself again. "Relax your body, John," he said as he leaned over John and kissed him.

John nodded, but he was already squirming underneath him. John kissed him hard in his nerves, tasting him, clutching at his hair. His hand moved lazily over his cock, so many more things to think about instead. 

Sherlock bit John's bottom lip as he pulled his face from John's. He put his hand between John's legs, gripping his inner thighs. He moved to hold John's balls, pulling softly. Then he brushed his fingers against John's hole as he leaned over and sucked one of John's nipples. He slicked John and pressed his finger against his opening, without pushing in.

John didn't know what to focus on first. "You're driving me crazy," he breathed. He lifted up a bit and kissed Sherlock, moving down his jaw and to his neck.

"I want to, John, I want to make you lose control," he said as he slowly pushed a finger in. "You okay?" he asked, twisting slightly as he continued to push in.

John groaned softly but nodded. Sherlock was afraid of destroying John and here he was practically begging for it. He wanted to do something for Sherlock, but he was stuck here, staring at his beautiful face.

Sherlock started moving his finger in and out of John. He could feel his hips mimicking the rhythm. "John," he moaned and after a few minutes, he slipped another finger in. He shifted his knees to separate John's legs more. He watched John's face. "You're gorgeous," he said.

John winced lightly at the second finger, but he moaned and pushed against them anyways. John looped his arms around Sherlock's neck and tugged him down kissing his lips before moving to his cheeks, jaw, and neck. He pressed against Sherlock's skin, nipping and sucking at it.

"Relax your body, John," Sherlock said as he pushed a third finger in. "I can't take much more, I need it," he tried to kiss John, but the thrust of his fingers and hips made it difficult. Instead he put his mouth to John's ear and said, "You make me so happy, John. Tell me you're ready. Tell me you want me."

John huffed out a hard breath and nodded. "I am . . . I do," he said. He took a deep breath. "I want you . . . please Sherlock . . . I _need_ you . . ." he panted. 

Sherlock smiled and stopped his movement long enough to give John a kiss on the mouth. Then he sat himself up and gently pulled out his fingers. He poured more lube into his hand and stroked himself and dribbled some on to John as well. "Bend your knees up," he said, grabbing a pillow and sliding it under John's hips. He reached to John's cock, trying to encourage him to keep his hand moving, and then lined himself up. He took a deep breath and slowly started to push himself in.

Immediately Sherlock's body filled with heat and he wondered if it felt so good just because it had been so long. John's tightness around him, the slow movement in, the warmth of their bodies on his bed -- it was almost too much. He made a noise between a gasp and a cry and said John's name. He pushed almost all the way in and stopped, leaning over, holding himself on his fists on either side of John's body. He looked down, "It feels good, John. Tell me you're okay. I don't want to stop."

John almost bit through his lip as Sherlock pushed in and he was forced to let it go, groaning as he felt every inch sliding in. He was stretched, but it was all right because it was Sherlock and it was worth it to have this sort of connection with him. He reached up and gripped Sherlock's arm, taking deep breaths. Relax, he told himself over and over. Then he nodded. "I'm okay," he murmured. "You . . .you can move." 

Sherlock began slowly to move. He first pushed just a bit farther in then eased his hips back, sliding all but the tip out before pushing himself back in. He started slowly, getting a steady rhythm. The movement was even sexier, and he watched John's face react. He could see the effect of the newness, of John doing something he had never done, of the intensity of the stretch. He watched it change as he started to thrust a little harder, a little faster, and suddenly Sherlock felt like he wanted more, he wanted to be deeper in, to take more of John. But it was too late to stop and worry what that might mean. It was too late to do anything but keep going.

He was panting and sweating and just kept bucking into John. "Lift your legs," he told John and when he did, Sherlock could push a bit deeper in. He sat up a bit and gripped John's thighs, pulling them a bit more apart. "I want to see you touching yourself," he said to John.

John was panting and making all kinds of sounds every time Sherlock thrust into him. A groan, a hum, a moan, breathless whispers -- it was amazing. It felt good -- it was nothing but wonderful pressure. He lifted and pulled his legs back as much as he could, moaning louder when Sherlock sank in deeper. John started to properly stroke himself, smearing precome all over himself. "Sherlock, that's so . . . feels so . . . good," he moaned.

"God, it's . . . you're sexy," Sherlock panted as he watched. He realised that in many ways he was in control of John right now: he was literally inside of him but also John was following his every word and even though he would probably hate himself later for it, it made it even better for Sherlock. He watched John stroking himself and wondered what he'd be like when he came, wondered what his face would reveal, what words would slip from his mouth. He kept thrusting in. It felt so good, but now that he knew he was in control of what was happening, he knew he wasn't ready for this to end yet. Just in case it never happened again, Sherlock wanted to make it last as long as he could.

He pushed in hard and then slowly pulled all the way out. He moved his body onto the bed next to John. "Straddle me," he said and grabbed the bottle and covered himself in lube again. "Catch your breath and then get on your knees over me. Then don't move until I say."

John whimpered when Sherlock pulled out, surprised by how empty he felt. "Sherlock . . . " he whined, wincing lightly as he moved to sit up. He watched Sherlock lying beside him, long limbs sprawled out and hand moving over his cock. He was mesmerised, watching Sherlock for a long time before remembering he was supposed to be moving. He climbed onto Sherlock, just in front of his cock, his hands moving all over Sherlock's chest and stomach and sides. He leaned down to kiss him, his neck, his chest, pressing his own cock against Sherlock's lower stomach.  

Sherlock let John kiss him and then, with one hand, gripped his shoulder to stop his movement and push his body up. He slid his other hand between John's legs. He could feel his hole stretched open and knew he had done that. He looked up at John. "You'll feel tender, John, but only stop if it really hurts, yeah?" Sherlock's hand moved to his cock and he lined himself up and lifted his hips to push just the tip in. Then he put a hand on each of John's thighs. "Push down slow, push me into you," he told him. 

John gasped softly and moaned, sinking down onto Sherlock. It was sexier somehow, pushing Sherlock into his body himself. He wanted it so badly, and he lost himself a bit, he moved quickly, sitting down on it, groaning at how deep he felt it at this new angle. He lifted and did it again, starting a steady rhythm on top of Sherlock. 

Sherlock watched John's face as he moved. It was a perfect balance of pain and pleasure -- just watching it, Sherlock felt the intensity on John's face move and take over both their bodies. As John sank down onto him, Sherlock too felt his own face tighten. It felt so good, different than the other position, but just as good. He clenched closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to look at John. "Use the muscles in your thighs," Sherlock commanded. "Go fast or slow but move down as hard as you can without hurting yourself." Sherlock steadied his body, shifting his feet to bend his knees so he was able to move his hips if he needed to.

John adjusted and pushed down onto Sherlock, letting out a breathless moan as he did. He lifted himself and did it again and again, as hard as he could. He reached for Sherlock's hand, with his own palm on top of it, and pressed it against his lower stomach. He felt every movement inside his belly and he wanted Sherlock to feel it too. "You're . . . so deep . . . all mine," John panted. His thighs burned but he didn't care. His face was twisting, wincing, his mouth dropping open and making small O's with every movement. He couldn't control his eyes, trying to keep them open, wanting to watch, but they were fluttering to close in pleasure. 

Sherlock watched John, and it was beautiful and the feeling was hot and hard and he didn't want it to end. This intensity -- he knew it was this that drove his obsessions -- but he didn't think of that now, he just thought of the pleasure, of how good it felt to be connected like this. Right now there was nothing else in the world but this. He pushed his feet against the bed, lifting his hips to meet John's pounding. He wanted more inside, more, more, more. 

John shouted out and fell forward a bit, holding Sherlock's shoulders tightly. Words were spilling from his mouth without his control -- yes and more and harder and Sherlock's name over and over and over. He'd never felt like this with anyone, this intensity, this level of pure pleasure. He slid one hand down his body and started to stroke himself again, his hand against Sherlock's stomach so that he stroked himself and rubbed Sherlock's belly. 

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's cock, pushed John's hand away. But he didn't stroke it, just gripped it, just held it, because he could, because John was his right now. He watched John until he couldn't, and he dropped his head into the pillow and closed his eyes for a minute. He stepped away in his mind, let it happen, just let John fuck himself on top of Sherlock and that too felt good, letting go felt good. Then he opened his eyes again and moved his hands to John's thighs. As John moved down against him, Sherlock gripped his legs and told John, "Stay there for a moment. Don't lift up. Keep pushing into me as long and hard as you can." Sherlock started stroking John's cock, hard and slow, until he felt the pressure from John's body reach its furthest point. Then he looked into John's eyes and said, "Slowly lift up and get onto your hands and knees."

John grunted when he was forced down, writhing against the constant full feeling and wanting desperately to move again. "Sherlock, please . . ." he begged, a small relief coming when Sherlock started to stroke him. "C-close . . ." he breathed out, but Sherlock stopped that too and John whimpered, whining like a child. It was unbearable, heat building and building and not going anywhere. He sighed and reluctantly, agreed, lifting himself slowly and pulling off of Sherlock. Even emptier now. "Please . . . please . . ." he murmured over and over, falling down onto his hands when he was next to Sherlock. He leaned over and kissed on his cheek. "Please Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John hard on the mouth. "It's sexy when you say please," he said smiling. He pulled himself up and moved behind John, leaning against his body. He slid his hands down John's back and said, "On your elbows, head on the pillow." Then he slid his hands to John's hips and rocked his against them. His cock pressed against John's arse and he said, "This is what it's going to feel like, John, but I'll be inside you. This is how I'm going to come." He swallowed hard and imagined it in his mind. "Say please again."

The teasing was unbearable, but two could play at that game. John pushed back against Sherlock, biting his top lip keep quiet. He even reached down and started to stroke himself

"Don't," Sherlock ordered. "Wait. Just wait." He started fucking John hard, grunting with each thrust. His hands moved down John's back to his shoulders, which he gripped as he pulled them down, moving John's body against him. His cock was impossibly hard, and every thrust seemed to make it harder. He controlled himself for a minute and moved his hands down John's back again. He let one rest on his hip and the other he stretched around to hold John's cock, which he stroked softly at first and then fast and hard as he started pounding into him again. "See, John? I'll take care of you. I want you to feel as good as I do," he said in between pants. "Do you? Tell me."

John could no longer keep his eyes open. They rolled back, lids fluttering closed as Sherlock thrust into his body. He was aware of touching, being pulled, and sounds slipping through his panting mouth against the pillow. He could barely keep himself up and was glad to be down on his face where he was sure to have ended up anyways. And then Sherlock wanted words, sentences, and it was so hard to make his brain cooperate. For a long time he just panted and moaned. Then he managed to speak. "Yes," he breathed. "So good . . . please," he added at the end, knowing Sherlock liked it. "Please . . . it's . . . fuck . . .so good . . . so close." Not sentences, but hopefully good enough.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled. This was something that John had never done with anyone else. It was all Sherlock's. "Tell me this is just ours, John. Tell me there will only be us, doing this. Tell me it's ours." He could feel himself getting close to the edge and he was ready to tumble over it. He wanted John's voice to push him over. He did his best to keep a steady stroke on John so he'd come as well.

"Ours," he breathed heavily. "It's . . .all ours . . . Sherlock, please . . ."

"John," Sherlock shouted as he came into him, pushing in, feeling like this was the last second of all time, not knowing what would come after. His hand on John gripped tightly as all the muscles in his body froze for a moment and the world just stopped. It was this moment -- because of all the pleasure that led to it -- this moment was where Sherlock got lost, this was the moment that Sherlock would chase. And then he returned, he was back, and his hand moved on John and he told him, "Come, John."

"Fuck," John whimpered before he came, shuddering and shouting and moaning in pleasure. It was too much. He was sure he'd pass out from the force of the waves coursing through him. He went limp against the bed, panting Sherlock's name over and over, sweaty and exhausted.

Sherlock slid himself from John's body. He wiped his hand and then his face -- it was hot and wet with sweat. He sat back on his feet for a moment, catching his breath, and then lay down next to John. He didn't say anything but reached over his hand to hold John's.

John didn't even have the energy to lay his legs flat. He kept them under his body as he panted into the pillow, squeezing Sherlock's hand. His body felt completely spent, but it was wonderful.

Sherlock sat up a bit awkwardly. "I'm sorry, John, but I need water." He reached down to grab his shirt which he tossed over to John. "You'll probably need this," he said softly.

He walked naked to the kitchen and got two glasses of water. He returned and handed one to John. "Here, drink this and then change your position so you're more comfortable." He slid back into the bed, sitting up and pulling the sheet over him as he drank.

John reached for the shirt slowly. He slid it under himself and wiped his belly, slow and a bit sloppy. Then he slowly untangled himself, turned and sat up, wincing as he did. He drank a bit of water and then immediately lay down on his side.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked.

"Sore," John answered honestly. "But I loved it. You were . . . fantastic," he smiled. "You?"

"You will be sore, but just for a day really," Sherlock said. He felt like his voice didn't sound right but wasn't sure how to change it. "It was good," he said honestly and made a little smile.

John smiled wider. "Yeah, it was." He wanted to thank Sherlock for giving them a chance but they had promised they wouldn't talk about it anymore.

"Should we go to sleep now, then?" Sherlock asked, turning on his side away from John and pulling the covers up around him. 

"Yeah," John said, watching his back. "Um . . .can I curl up behind you?" he asked quietly, having expected a cuddle. He flushed lightly, embarrassed since Sherlock seemed to not even be thinking about that.

"Okay," Sherlock said. But he didn't say more. Because what he wanted to say was wrap around me, John, until I fall asleep and be wrapped around me when I wake up and then let me fuck you again until I need you to wrap around me while I sleep until I wake up and we do it again. That's what he wanted to say because that's what he wanted to happen.

Sherlock took a deep breath. He knew it was useless to try to change what was in his head, that's what he wanted and nothing would change that. Did it do any harm just being in his head? he wondered. That wasn't really the problem, was it? He just had to control how he acted. When John moved closer and slid his arms around him, Sherlock squeezed John's hands and concentrated on breathing.

John felt himself slipping dangerously. Sherlock was weary about the sentimental stuff, the love and the cuddling, but he was excellent at the sex and the control. John loved him so much that, if Sherlock wanted no intimacy, wanted to just fuck him into the bed each night and pass out, John would let him. He'd curl up awkwardly and take what he could as far as sentiment. He knew it was dysfunctional. He didn't care. He drifted off after a few minutes, thinking about how pathetically in love with Sherlock he was. 

Sherlock's exhaustion had started with the talk -- god, that seemed so long ago -- so soon he too was asleep. But he woke up a few hours later, with John still holding him. He wondered if John knew this was how Sherlock was -- even without a case on, he rarely slept through a night. He stroked John's hand with his fingers and then slowly turned to face him. "Don't wake up, John," he said as softly as possible. "I love you, don't ever leave me. Please don't ever leave me. Because I love you." He watched for any flicker of recognition on John's face and felt safe when he saw none. He shifted his body now a little away from John's and tried to make himself go to sleep again.


	8. Things Seem To Be Going Well

Eventually, Sherlock figured it must be time to get up. He reached for his phone and saw that it was seven. That was close enough to morning. He slid out of bed, letting John sleep. He put on his pajamas, moved to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. His legs were sore. He felt last night in his body, but it was good. So good he wanted to go back and wake John up, smothering his face with kisses. But he didn't. He poured his tea and sat down at his desk by the window, staring dumbly outside.

John was having a strange dream about Sherlock, but everything was fuzzy and he couldn't make it out very well. When he woke up he reached over for Sherlock but the bed was empty, a bit cold even. John sighed and tried to move around, testing his body. His legs hurt like he'd been running a marathon and of course his arse was still sore, but it was nothing like last night.

He drank some more water and slowly got up. He put on his pajamas and made his way into the bathroom before coming into the kitchen. "Morning," John said, turning the kettle on again.

"I would have made you some," Sherlock said, standing. "I wanted to let you sleep. You looked peaceful." He smiled at John. "How's your body?"

"That's all right," John smiled, leaning on the counter. "It's better. Sore muscles, but I'll live."

"So you . . . don't regret it?" Sherlock said, sitting back down at his desk.

"Of course not. Even if I couldn't walk I wouldn't regret it. Do you?" he asked, taking another sip.

"No, I don't, John," he looked up at him. "I don't. If everything ends right now, I am grateful for all you gave me last night." He set his mug down and fiddled a bit with the papers on his desk.

John nodded and looked down at his mug. Why were things still so awkward and forced? He pushed off of the counter and went into the sitting room, sinking down in his chair a bit too hard, and opening his book.

Sherlock stood up and walked to behind John's chair. He touched John's shoulder softly. "I'm trying to control my behaviour, John."

"What if you just did what you felt and, if it's too much, I'll tell you and we can fix it?" John asked, leaning into his touch.

"I don't think so, John, I already know it's too much," Sherlock said honestly. He stood for a moment. It felt okay being kind of honest about it. He had done okay, he thought, letting John get up and start his day normally without demanding anything of him. So far, Sherlock was doing okay.

To lighten the mood a little, he bent down and said in John's ear, "If I did what I felt, you wouldn't be able to walk for the rest of the week." He kissed the top of John's head and walked back to his desk.

"Walking is overrated anyways," John said, looking after him. More seriously he added, "I'm not a child, Sherlock. Maybe you should let me decide what is 'too much'. We already talked about giving this an honest try. If you keep holding back we'll never know what the line is, what to fix, and you'll always be this way. If I can handle it then why not just be yourself? I love you, I don't mind a couple bumps while we figure this out."

"Turn back in your chair then," Sherlock said. It was harder talking about this in the light of day. "It's nothing to do sex stuff, really, I was just teasing. If I want to try something in bed and you don't, that's fine, just tell me and I will do the same with you." He swallowed the end of his tea, even though there was barely a mouthful left. "It's more about time, I guess. Like when I woke up, I really wanted to wake you up. I wanted to make you give me attention. And then when I would have wanted to sleep again, I'd have wanted to make you sleep. Until I woke up and needed attention again. Kind of like that except . . . all the time . . . until we died." Sherlock blushed even though he knew John couldn't see him. "That's what's in my head. But I didn't, did I? I let you sleep. I kept it under control."

"Everyone does things like that," he said. "When I came into the kitchen I wanted to kiss you good morning, but I know you're a bit weary so I didn't," he admitted.

"No, John," Sherlock said seriously. "We can only talk about this if you promise you'll believe me. You have to trust what I'm saying -- would I make such a spectacle if this weren't a real problem?" He looked out the window. "You could have kissed me when you came in. In fact, I don't really understand why you didn't. I'm not talking about things like that, John."

"It sounds the same to me, I'm sorry," he said. "When I see you doing experiments I wish you were talking to me. But I don't bother you. I've considered quitting my job to stay home with you. I know a bit about what you're talking about."

"I know it seems the same, John, but like I said, it's not totally just about feelings, it's about behaviour. You might wish I were speaking to you instead of working. But you let me work. You might wish you could quit your job, but you haven't and I don't really believe you would. Be honest. Anyway, it's been okay so far, right?"

"That's what I mean. I'm controlling my behaviour, too. It's just not extreme," John said. "I do believe you, but I need you to trust me, okay?" 

"I know, I do trust you, I promise. It's just that I haven't always done so well in the past and things weren't very . . . good. You've got more skill or at least more practice than I have. I have poor impulse control, John, that can't really come as news to you. Avoidance has been the only way that's worked, but I'll try." He stood up and walked into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. "Now why don't you stop being mean to me and give me a good morning kiss?"

John smiled and got up. "I want you to trust that I can handle whatever you throw at me, and trust that -- " He reached him now and pecked his lips. "-- we'll fix things together and you don't have to hold back." He kissed Sherlock between his words, hugging him around the waist.

Sherlock pulled back just a little. "That's kind of not fair, John. It's not you I'm struggling to trust, it's me and as I explained last night, I've got good reason. And besides you shouldn't have to put up with . . . bad behaviour. I guess I just wanted to tell you that I've already felt . . . just, I just don't want you to tell me that everything will always be fine. Just tell me when it is fine, okay? I've been fine so far, haven't I? Just tell me it's fine right now, that's all I want you to do." He stepped back into John's arms and snuggled against his chest.

"Everything is fine now," John said. "But I think it'll just be easier to tell you when it's not, or else I'll never shut up," he smiled.

"Okay, tell me when it's not fine and let's leave it at that. Unless I ask, which I suppose is what I was trying to do but not very successfully obviously," Sherlock said. He gave John a squeeze and then moved to pour himself another cup of tea. "ls there a plan for the day?" he asked. 

"I didn't have one but we can go on another date if you'd like? Or show me what's going to keep me from walking for a week?" John grinned.

"I will show you that. I'd happily show you that right now. Is that what you want or shall we begin our day and save that until after dinner? Think with your brain, please," Sherlock said, smiling.

John sighed dramatically. "After dinner I suppose," he smiled.

"All right," Sherlock said, smiling back. "Spend some time imagining or thinking about what you want to happen." He stretched a little. "I'm going to have a shower now and then I need to go to the library. You can come with me if you'd like or you can stay here. I can handle either way." He threw a pen at John's head. 

John caught the pen and stuck his tongue out. "I already know what I want to try, but I'm not telling you," he teased.

"Come on now, John, worried I won't be able to handle it?" he moved to John and slid his hand down his back to John's arse. "Whatever, keep it to yourself if you want. I do not intend to keep my desires a secret. I'll let you know loud and clear. I will tell you exactly what I need from you. I'm going to shower now. Don't wank while I'm gone." He headed to the bathroom. 

"It's nothing crazy," John laughed. "Just something I have never done before. And I'll wank all over the place if I want." That didn't make much sense but he couldn't help it.

"Whatever," Sherlock called, laughing to himself. He brushed his teeth and then hopped in for a quick shower. Once he was finished, he walked into his room and dressed. He looked for a minute at the messy bed and smiled to himself. He pulled the covers up and picked up the empty glasses of water, taking them to kitchen. "Have a good wank?" he asked, rinsing the glasses in the sink.

"Three actually, shame you missed them," John teased. He didn't look up from his book as he said this.

"That is a shame," Sherlock said, walking over and kneeling in front of John's chair. "Are you always so fast?" he said, nuzzling his face into John's lap underneath the book. "I want to watch you do it, but nice and slow," he exhaled a warm breath against the flannel of John's pajamas.

John gripped his book. "Now?" he murmured.

"Not if you've just done it three times," Sherlock said, leaning back onto his own chair. "I wouldn't want you to chafe," he said laughing softly at himself.

"And if I hadn't?" John asked quietly.

"I would sit here and watch you do it. And maybe do it myself while I watched. Or possibly bend you over the arm of that chair and fuck you." Sherlock tried to read John's face. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

John kept his slightly wide eyes on Sherlock, nodding slowly. He palmed himself through his pajamas. "I didn't, you know."

"I know," Sherlock said, shifting himself a little. "Do it now." He didn't take his eyes off of him.

John tugged his pajamas down a bit and pulled himself out. "Aren't you?" he asked quietly, stroking himself slowly.

"I might," Sherlock said. He ran his hand through his hair and touched his lips with a finger. "Show me."

John looked down at Sherlock's crotch, imagining moving over to him and pulling out his cock, touching it, stroking it and also what he wanted to do later, putting it into his mouth. He bit his lip and moaned softly, stroking himself faster. 

Sherlock kept watching John. "You really are gorgeous, John Watson," he said, shifting a little. "Do you like it fast like that? Do you want me to do it like that to you tonight?"

John slowed down again, gripping tightly but moving steadily slow. "I like both but going fast is sexier," he admitted. "Like last night. We did both and it was amazing." 

"Close your eyes, John," Sherlock instructed. "Think about what happened in my bed." He watched John's face. "What did you like about last night?"

John reluctantly let his eyes slip closed. "I liked . . . riding you," he said, unable to help his hand speeding up as he thought about it again. His mind drifted away from last night and thought about straddling him on his chair, riding him right now. He bit his lip. 

"That's good," Sherlock said softly. "I liked that, too." He moved his legs. "John, if I told you I could come without touching myself, just from watching you, would you make yourself come for me? Please, I want to watch you."

John's hand moved faster. "Yes," he murmured. "Can I watch, please?"

"You can do whatever you want," Sherlock said, "as long as I see you come."

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock again. "You won't touch at all?" he asked, a bit disappointed. His mind was flashing images of last night and of things to come later.  

"Not at all," Sherlock said. "Do it now, John."

John moved faster, panting now. "I want to see you touch, too," he whined softly, sinking down a bit. 

"You saw me touch last night, John, and you'll see me again tonight. Shh . . . stop talking now," Sherlock said, watching him closely.

John closed his eyes again and imagined being bent over the arm of the chair, fucked like last night with his face pressed into the cushion. He came suddenly, all over his hand and his shirt. He moaned softly, mostly panting through his orgasm. 

Sherlock's breath was faster now. He watched John's hand and when he came, he watched his face. "Open your eyes, John. You okay?"

John blinked his eyes open and nodded. "I'm fine," he said, tucking himself away and reluctantly wiping his hand on his shirt.

Sherlock let out a long, slow exhale. Then he said, "John, I changed my mind. I didn't come, which means I'm sitting here with an erection. Two things can happen now, John, and you get to choose with absolutely no input from me. The first option is that I think of something to make it go away, you go upstairs and get ready and we go to the library. The second option is that you come over here and help me. Have a good think -- which do you choose?"

"I want to help you," John said, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's crotch. He slid onto his knees and moved right in front of him. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, looking up. 

Sherlock opened his trousers and wiggled them down his ankles before kicking them off. He started to stroke himself. "Put your hand on mine," he said.

John reached forward and covered Sherlock's hand with his own, looking between his eyes and their hands. 

Sherlock moved their hands up and down his cock. "Slow at first," he said softly. "Tighten your grip a little." John did, which increased the pressure of his own hand. "Lean in and let me kiss you."

John lifted up on his knees to bring himself closer to Sherlock, pressing their lips together, his hand tight like Sherlock asked. 

"I like your kisses, John," he said softly. "Keep your hand on mine but give me some of your kisses on my thigh."

John flushed lightly and leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to Sherlock's thigh, moving down and inwards a bit. 

Sherlock lifted his other hand to John's head, touching his hair lightly. "That's nice, John," he said slowly. His other hand under John's moved faster on his cock. "Have you ever tasted come, John?"

John moved to his other thigh and kissed upwards this time. He paused and shook his head. He'd been kissed my girls after they had sucked him off, but it was faint and barely counted. 

"You've made my cock all wet now, John. It's on my fingers. Can I put one in your mouth?" Sherlock asked.

John looked at his fingers, then at the leaking head of his cock. He had been thinking about putting the head into his mouth, which meant he was going to be tasting it soon anyways. He nodded. "Okay," he murmured, parting his lips and opening his mouth a bit.  

Sherlock lifted his fingers to John's mouth and ran them across his bottom lip before slipping two into John's mouth. He rolled them on John's tongue. "What do you think?" he said. He moved his other hand to his cock.

John pulled back a little, but it was mostly a mental thing, his brain very aware of what exactly he was tasting. "Um, it's not as bad as I expected," he admitted. 

"Good," Sherlock said. "I want to come now, John. I'd like you to rest your head on my leg, while I do. I'd like you to imagine having your mouth on me. Just imagine it, don't do it." His hand was moving faster now and he could feel his breath getting faster. "Set your head down, John."

John turned his head and put his cheek on Sherlock's thigh, watching his hand moving up and down quickly. He imagined his mouth there, bobbing up and down . . . he moaned softly at the thought. 

Sherlock caressed John's head with one head, flicking his fingers through his hair. With his other, he moved on his cock, slower again at first and then faster. He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes, imagining last night. He felt the pressure of John's head on his thigh, he felt John's breath on his cock, and he was coming, saying John's name, slowly and deliberately. He stilled his hand, now covered in come, and took a deep breath and sat up. "Can I wipe this on your shirt?" he asked, "since you've already made a mess of it." 

John watched him come, panting slightly at the sight and wincing. Nothing got on his face, though. He nodded and sat up so Sherlock could get to his shirt easier. "You're so sexy," he said quietly. 

"With your help perhaps," Sherlock said, he rubbed his hand slowly across John's chest and then leaned in and kissed him. "If you want to come with me to the library, go get changed."

"All right," John said, getting up again. As he went upstairs he considered just throwing the shirt out, but he just hid it so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't find it and he put fresh clothes on. "I'll have to shower when we come back," he said when he came down.

"Yes, please do," Sherlock said pulling a face at him. They headed out to the library.


	9. Some Things That Might Happen

Their afternoon was a great relief to Sherlock. Firstly, because they quickly found the information Sherlock was looking for. John found it actually and had looked incredibly pleased with himself, which was a particularly cute look of John's. But Sherlock was also relieved that it all felt totally normal. Their interactions were normal, the way they spoke to each other was normal. It was all as it had been a few days ago. Well, almost -- when they brushed against each other in the stacks, it sent an electricity through Sherlock. That was different. But Sherlock behaved completely appropriately the whole afternoon and didn't even struggle to do it. Perhaps Sherlock had over reacted. Perhaps he really, finally had changed.

"So, are we going to Angelo's again?" John asked when they left the library. It had been such a good day and John had really enjoyed it.

"No, let's go somewhere else," Sherlock said, "or order in. I don't really care actually." He got them a cab and on the ride back, he rested his hand on John's. He was smiling stupidly the whole way home.

John agreed. In the cab he turned his hand so he could hold Sherlock's properly. At the flat John flicked through the many menus they had saved up. "Want anything specific?"

Sherlock was making tea. "For dinner," he asked, "or after?" When he turned around to John, he was smiling cheekily. "I don't care about the food. Honestly. You pick."

John rolled his eyes but grinned and pulled out the Chinese menu, his go to. He ordered for both of them, paid with his card, and joined Sherlock in the sitting room. "It'll be here soon," he said. 

"Whatever will we do for twenty minutes?" Sherlock asked. "Perhaps you could do me a quick favour?" Sherlock could hear that his voice was different. He recognised what that meant and wondered if John did yet. "Perhaps you could stand by your chair for a second? I need some help with something."

John's brows furrowed lightly. "Why do you need me to stand by my chair? You need help with what?" 

"I'm assuming you have thought about my bending you over that chair. Earlier, when I mentioned that I could fuck you that way, you nodded. You wanted me to say that. I like to please you, John, so would you show me what you were imagining?" Sherlock shifted slightly on the sofa. "Think about what you saw in your head earlier and then show me."

John stood up but hesitated. He felt a bit embarrassed -- he didn't want to act this out. "Um . . . well, I saw me bent over." He moved to the arm away from Sherlock, so when he bent over his arse was towards the fireplace. "And um . . .my face was . . . " He trailed off and lay his cheek on the cushion, facing Sherlock's chair. "Like this." 

Sherlock smiled at John. "Don't feel uncomfortable, John, you look gorgeous," he said. "And in this picture, where was I? Stay like that. Just describe it, you don't have to show me."

"You're behind me," he said. "Holding my hips, or even . . . maybe pushing my head down. But not the whole time. Mostly holding my hips," he said. He closed his eyes and imagined it. 

Sherlock slowly stood up and moved behind John. He put his hands on John's hips and pressed his own gently against John's arse. "Like this?" he said softly. He slid one hand down John's back and into his hair, pressing gently on his head, "and sometimes like this?" Then he slid his hand back up to John's hip. "Is this what you were picturing?" His voice was soft but deliberate.

John's eyes snapped open when he felt the touch and he nodding, turning his head a bit more to try and look up at Sherlock. "Yeah . . . just like that," he said. 

"There'd be movement, I assume," Sherlock began to slowly rock his hips against John. "Like this?" 

John lifted himself onto his arms and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "Like that . . ."

"And when your head wasn't down, you'd turn it like you did before to try to see me, to watch me fucking you?" Sherlock's body was moving in a rhythm now. He kept his hands gripped to John's hips, pulling them back to meet his thrusts.

John nodded, his fingers curling into the cushion now. He turned his head towards Sherlock again. "If you leaned forward a bit I could kiss you," he said. 

"I'm not sure about that," Sherlock said quietly. "It seems . . . I can't see it in my head," he bent forward, leaning towards John, and then lifted one hand to John's face. He kissed him hard with an open mouth, before pulling back. "Well, what do you know? You were right. It worked." He stepped back from John. "Thank you, John. That was definitely helpful." There was a knock at the door and Sherlock went down to get the food.

John was properly flustered now, but he took deep breaths to calm himself down a bit. He went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water for both of them, getting out plates and silverware for the food that Sherlock brought up. "Want to watch a movie while we eat? Or find something on the telly?" 

"No," Sherlock said. "Let's talk while we eat. Should we sit at the table or in there?" he asked motioning with his head.

"At the table, so it can be like a date still," John said. 

"No candle though," Sherlock said, smiling. They sat down and began eating. After a few bites, Sherlock asked, "Did you get hard then, by the chair?" He was looking down at his plate.

"Started to, yeah," John admitted. "I think . . . there was something sexy about the fact that we had everything on still. I don't know."

"Interesting to know," Sherlock said. "I would like us to do many things tonight. Should I put the chair on the list?"

"The list?" John asked. "What's already on the list?" 

"Are you sure you'd like to know or would you prefer to be surprised?" Sherlock looked up at John, trying to read his face. He did not want John to feel anxious. He did want him to feel anticipatory. There was a subtle difference between the two feelings, but Sherlock wanted to make sure John was on the right side of the line.

"I can't decide," John smiled. "Can you give me clues?" The thought of being surprised was fun, but he also wanted to know what was going on in that head of his.

"Of course," Sherlock smiled. "Let me describe what I had in mind and I shall leave some aspects more vague. However, if you do want the details, all you have to do is ask. First, I'd like us to lie on the couch and kiss. With our clothes on. Just kissing. Like teenagers. 'First base,' I believe the Americans call it. That's where I'd like us to start. Your thoughts?" Sherlock said, looking up. 

"Yeah," John nodded. "I like the sound of that," he smiled.

"Although that's where I'd like to start, I am open minded about the order of the rest of the night. If it's all right with you, I think we should just let things progress naturally. However, there are a few things that I definitely would like to occur. For example, I have a feeling that you are curious about what it would be like to have me in your mouth," he paused and saw John's face flush just a little. "I would like you to satisfy that curiosity this evening. I am, of course, entirely willing to return the favour."

"I do want to try that. I've been thinking about it . . . I'll just be a bit slow," he said.

"John," Sherlock reached across the table and touched his hand. "I don't care how you do it. I don't care if you just do it for a second and then stop. I just want to know what the inside of your mouth feels like. Okay? So that one can stay on the list?"

John nodded. "That one can stay on the list. I want to know what that feels like, too. I told you it was nothing crazy," he teased.

"I suppose everyone has different definitions of crazy, though, don't they, John? I am currently telling you the things I would like to happen. However, none of those things have to happen. I said before that I want you to tell me if I wanted something you didn't, and I will do likewise. So before I tell you what's next on the list, let's have a think about that issue. When one's imagination is . . . aroused, words can be tricky things. So right now, when either of us is . . . distracted in any way, let's choose a phrase we can say that very clearly means 'I do not want to do that'. I'd like you to choose the words."

"Um . . .how about Vatican cameos? It's Army. I mean . . .we'd never say that during sex and we'd have to be properly distressed..." John tried to ignore the fact that this was basically a safe word, and he wondered what the night had in store. He was even more excited. 

"Thank you for choosing," Sherlock said and there was something that made him feel warm about the choice, like a secret John was sharing. "Okay, back to the list. I would like to see you with your hands above your head. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Sherlock asked.

"Are you going to tie me up?" John asked.

Sherlock answered, "Yes, I would like to see your hands above your head because I would like to tie you to my bed. Or your bed . . . yours might be easier because of your headboard. That's not a key detail. I would like to restrain your arms. The reason, of course, would not to be to hurt you. I have no interest in hurting you, John." He glanced up, wondering what was going on in John's head, how his brain was processing this information. "I see it more as taking away your worries. You wouldn't need to worry about what was happening, because you'd have no control over what was happening." He paused for a moment. "Except, of course, for Vatican cameos. Which you could say at any time, and I would stop immediately." He looked up at John. "What do you make of that scenario?"

John thought about this, imagined himself restrained, imagined Sherlock doing things to him and being unable to touch him. That was the key. Not to get away or push him off -- just being unable to touch him. "We can try that," he said finally. "I think that would be interesting. A girlfriend made me tie her up once and it'll be curious to be on the other side of that."

"I don't like that," Sherlock said sharply. "I don't want -- I don't want to hear about . . .  That's our deal, right? I am letting you know what I don't want you to do." Sherlock swallowed and tried to move the conversation forward. "Is there anything that you want to add to the list? We have many, many hours to fill, John. Anything in your imagination that you'd like to make real?" Sherlock was leaning forward slightly in his chair. He stretched his long legs so one pressed against John's calf. 

"Sorry. I won't again," he promised. Then he thought about Sherlock's question and wondered what he would like to try. He was going to suck Sherlock off, get tied up, and bent over the chair. He looked around the room, thinking. "This isn't anything to do with me . . .well, kind of, but . . . will you wear your purple shirt? The button up? And . . .and roll the sleeves up?" He felt his cheeks flush, but he was just being honest about what he wanted.

Sherlock smiled. He hadn't been sure what John would come up with, whether he'd come up with anything at all, but that, that was such a John answer. "Of course," Sherlock said. "Of course, I will." He pushed his plate forward, even though it still held quite a bit of food. He looked at his watch. "It's still early, just gone six. You said you wanted to shower when we got back . . . perhaps our date should begin at seven? Should I meet you on the sofa then?"

"Okay," John nodded. "I'll go get ready then." He pecked Sherlock's cheek and went up to his room, wanting to plan every detail perfectly. He laid out dark jeans, a simple t-shirt, and pulled out, from the very back of his drawer, a pair of red pants. He took a quick shower, changed into his clothes and came back down stairs. "I feel much better," he said.

"You look delicious," Sherlock said, smiling as he stood up. "I'll go get ready now." He too took a quick shower and got dressed in his room. He put on the purple shirt and rolled up the sleeves as John had requested. He looked at the clock. It was time for the date to begin.


	10. In The Sitting Room

He went into the living room and saw John on the sofa. He sat down beside him. "Dinner was lovely," he said. He leaned back and lifted one arm to the back of the sofa, like a teenaged boy on a sitcom would do. "Could I have a little kiss, please?" he asked.

John admired him for a moment, eyes wandering down and back up before he leaned over and pecked his cheek. "Just a little one?"

"That was good," Sherlock said, smiling. "But I suppose I didn't mean quite that little." He leaned into John, dropping his arm to hold tight around him. His other hand lifted to John's face and he tipped his head before kissing his mouth. It was good. He slipped his tongue in, finding John's, before moving to nip at John's bottom lip.

John hummed softly as they kissed. "I thought of something else," he murmured.

"All right, do you want to tell me?" Sherlock asked, nuzzling into John's neck.

"If we don't get to it tonight we can do it another time but . . .I want to ride you again, but backwards -- like facing outwards -- so I can lean back against you."

Sherlock smiled. "You're filthy, you are. Did that just pop into your mind after one kiss or was it already in there and you just decided to share?" He leaned in to suck on John's earlobe.

"In the shower," John flushed lightly. "And don't call me filthy, that's your doing," he teased.

"I like your being filthy," Sherlock said. He pulled John towards him. "Lie on top of me so we can make out."

John let himself fall onto Sherlock, holding himself up on one arm while the other slid into his hair. John pecked his lips, stalled over him, pecked them a second time as he put his weight comfortably between Sherlock's legs, and finally kissed him proper.

Sherlock let John lead this kiss. His weight on him felt good and he loved having John's hand in his hair. He opened his mouth, inviting John in.

John pushed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, tasting him, humming softly. He pressed harder, tilting his head and kissing him deeper. 

Sherlock imagined what it would have been like to have met John when they were teenagers, what it'd be like to be together with no emotional baggage or even sexual experience. He lifted his chin a little, lifting into the kiss then put his hands on John's back, just stroking it lightly. He moved one of his leg slightly and John's weight shifted on him, and the pressure was good. 

John thrust his hips once before settling against him, gripping the back of head a bit harder. He really did love kissing Sherlock. 

Sherlock lifted his hands to John's head, tipping it so he could move to kiss and suck his neck. He lifted his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "How many times do you think you can come tonight?"

"I’m hoping at least three," John said, thinking about all the things they'd try, and that was if Sherlock let him each time. "You?" 

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "Do you want to have your first one here on this sofa?" He ran his tongue around the shape of John's ear and sucked the bottom of it into his mouth and held it between his teeth.

"I thought you could . . . if I got down on my knees," John murmured, his breath shaky from Sherlock's mouth -- his lovely, beautiful mouth. 

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Okay, that sounds . . . very good to me. Tell me what you'd like me to do. Do you want me to do it to you first or . . . I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me."

John shook his head. "You're doing enough on me tonight -- or, a lot, I should say. I will do this for you." John pecked his lips and slid down on his knees, patting Sherlock's leg so he could sit up. When he did, John pushed his legs apart and started opening the button. "What's your favourite part about a blowjob?"

Before Sherlock lifted up to help John with his trousers, he grabbed John's cheeks and brought their faces close together. "Don't say I do for you or you do for me. Whatever we do, I want it to be for both of us, yeah?" he gave him a kiss and then let John continue his work. Sherlock had no intention of discussing his favourite parts of blowjobs because that would require him to think of previous ones and he had no interest in doing that. "Give me one and I'll you what my favourite part is. Unless you're actually asking me something else like if I want you to put me all the way in or swallow? Is that what you're asking me?"

"I was just curious but now I am wondering that as well -- and don't tell me whatever I want. Be honest with me."

"I suppose I'm mostly interested in your tongue. It feels good to go far in but your tongue is most important. And I do not care one way or another about your swallowing. I honestly do not. At that point, I'm likely to have much more pressing concerns distracting me," Sherlock smiled.

"Tongue . . .okay, I can do that," John smiled. He would figure out the swallowing part later. He tugged Sherlock's trousers down, running his hand over his belly, but on top of the shirt. He lifted on his knees and pressed his face into his belly. "I love this shirt, Sherlock. It's so sexy . . . " He huffed out a breath and pressed a kiss there before taking his pants off slowly, pooling both at his ankles. He stroked Sherlock slowly, looking up at him.

Sherlock found John's fascination with his shirt quite interesting and quite endearing. He wiggled his legs to kick off his trousers completely so he wouldn't feel restricted. He leaned back a bit on the sofa and let John stroke him. He closed his eyes and exhaled, "I like when you touch me, John. I can't believe we haven't been doing this all along. You know just how to make me feel good." 

"Better late than never," he murmured, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. He wanted tongue and John was determined to give him just that, wondering how long it would take before Sherlock was begging for his mouth. He licked at the tip like it was candy.

Sherlock let out a long, slow exhale at the first touch of John's tongue. It was soft and warm and wet and it was very, very good. Sherlock lifted a hand up to his hair. "Yes, John," Sherlock said, "that's right. You okay?" Please say yes, he thought. 

John nodded, swirling around the tip, flicking his tongue over the tip, and doing another long swipe up the underside. He licked up the sides, the tip again, and then blew softly on the wetness left behind.

"John," Sherlock exhaled again. He could feel tension growing in his body, his legs felt tense so he tried to stretch them a little. "Is this what you wanted to do to me?" he asked softly.

"Drive you crazy?" John smiled. He pecked kisses on Sherlock's inner thighs, kissed his balls, sucked them into his mouth, then moved to kiss Sherlock's shaft. He pressed three hard kisses along one side before giving up. He pressed his flat tongue on the side and licked up, then on the other side, and then the underside again. "You taste delicious..."

Sherlock made a soft groan. "Do you think you might put it in?" he asked softly.

John kissed the tip of his cock. "Since you asked so nicely," he smiled, opening his mouth and taking Sherlock in. He made it about halfway before he had to pull back. It was definitely different. He started a rhythm, bobbing up and down, keeping his halfway mark for the moment. 

"John," Sherlock moaned again. "God, that feels incredible." He wanted John to feel comfortable with this, to feel confident in his ability. But that's not why Sherlock said it felt incredible. He said it because it did. He put a hand in John's hair but did not push -- he just tangled his fingers in it and then let it rest lightly. He looked down and watched John moving on him. It was gorgeous.

John hummed around Sherlock's cock. He was used to this now, the feeling of something like this in his mouth. So he started to experiment. He tried little tricks to relax his throat, slowly taking in a bit more of Sherlock, testing his reflex. He would go until he felt it, then pull back to just before. He'd swallow, breathe, and go a bit further. It was slow work, it seemed to take forever, but finally John was bobbing down and burying his nose in the soft hair. He pulled up with a gasp of air, swallowed, and did it again. What a feeling. 

"God," Sherlock said, leaning back just a little. He was afraid to move much -- he didn't want to disturb what was happening. "John, I hope you are all right with what you are doing because it feels fucking fantastic. I don't know how much more . . ." he swallowed and just concentrated on John's mouth.

_\-- how much more he could take_. John finished in his head for Sherlock. Precome was already leaking into his mouth and he was so focused as moving downwards that he just realised he'd been swallowing it the whole time. That was his answer then. He hummed and started to bob regularly again, going almost all the way down each time. 

Sherlock was impressed with John, liked that he was willing to challenge himself. "John," he exhaled, "I want to come. What do you want me to do?"

John looked up at him and continued his movement, humming softly again. It was happening. He was going to swallow Sherlock's come -- filthy, like Sherlock said before. He sat up a bit on his knees and shifted closer to the sofa. 

Sherlock did his best not to move his hips. He closed his eyes and concentrated totally on John's mouth, John's soft, warm mouth, and its movement. He loved it, loved John, loved everything in this moment. He tried to make a word, but couldn't and suddenly there it was, the electricity inside, and he came, squeezing shut his eyes so tightly he saw sparks behind his lids. He gasped for air and opened his eyes. "John," he said, softly panting.

John felt it -- the moment before it happened. He pulled back, about half way, so that he could be ready and suddenly Sherlock was coming into his mouth. It was stronger than the precome, there was more of it, but we swallowed quickly before it pooled into his mouth and he got it all over himself. He wanted to be filthy, not sloppy. And then Sherlock was relaxing, and John pulled away slowly, licking him clean before laying his head on Sherlock's thigh. "I'm okay," he said, knowing Sherlock would ask. He kept swallowing, licking his lips and swallowing again.  

Sherlock swallowed hard and arched his back a bit to stretch. Then he leaned forward a little bit and kissed John hard. Then staring straight into John's eyes, he slid his hand between John's legs, palming his erection. "What's happening here, John? Did you think this would happen, that being filthy would cause this?" he said. "What are we going to do about this?"

John hadn't even realised he was hard, but now that Sherlock brought attention to it he realised he was painfully so. He moaned loudly and leaned against Sherlock's shoulder. "Take care of it . . . please."

"Stand up," Sherlock said. He shifted the pillow on the sofa and moved to the edge. He undid John's trousers and pulled them down, helping John step out of them. Then Sherlock leaned forward, gripped John's legs and licked the tip of John's cock before licking across his lips. "I want you to fuck my mouth, John," he said calmly. He lifted one of his hands up John's chest. "But spit into my hand first." He was now licking up and down John's shaft. 

John spit into Sherlock's hand like he asked, already panting from the light touches on his cock. If Sherlock didn't hurry he was going to come all over his chest. He was so much harder than he thought. 

Sherlock parted his lips and slid down on John's cock. He slowly dragged his mouth back up, swirling his tongue around him. He moved back down, this time curling the tip of his tongue slightly to draw a line down the underside. He kept moving down and back. With one hand, he held John's arse and pushed, encouraging John to rock his hips. He slid his wet hand between John's legs and rubbed John's balls, letting his fingertips brush against his hole.

"Fuck," John hissed because he honestly couldn't control himself. He needed to come so badly. He gripped Sherlock's hair and thrust into his mouth, trying to hold on to some control as he pushed himself in. He was moaning and panting, swears escaping every few thrusts. 

Sherlock swallowed John down a few more times, pressing his arse with his hand, so that John went further in. And then he slipped both hands to the front of John's hips and pushed back slowly, sucking on John's cock as it slipped from his lips. Then he stood up against John's body. With his face just an inch from John's, he said, "Turn around and walk over to your chair."

John whimpered at not being able to come, taking deep breaths as he walked over to the chair. "Sherlock . . . I'm aching . . . please," he mumbled, stroking himself slowly. As much as he was suffering he didn't want to make himself come. That would ruin all of this and the waiting was so sexy. 

Sherlock walked closely behind John. "You know I like to hear you say please," he said huskily. "It won't be long." He stood behind John, next to the chair, and then slid one hand from John's arse up his back and then pushed John's head down gently onto the seat. "Something's slid down the side of the cushion, John, could you reach in and hand it to me?" As he waited, he slid a hand around John's hip and held his cock.

John shoved his hand into the cushion blindly, trying to look at Sherlock even though he was holding John's head down. His fingers gripped around a bottle and he lifted it up to Sherlock. He twitched his hips in attempt to get some friction from the hand that was holding him.

"Take a deep breath, John," Sherlock said, letting go of John's cock and quickly opening the lube to pour some into his hands. "Head down now, relax," he said, returning one hand to John's cock and slowly stroking. He slid his other hand down John's arse and pressed the tip of one finger inside John. "I'm going to fuck you with my fingers now and you're going to come into my hand." He started slowly moving his finger into John, using the same rhythm as his other hand. "Does this feel good?"

John nodded against the cushion. "I don't . . . know how long . . .I can wait," John moaned softly. "Please . . . Sherlock."

Sherlock pulled his finger all the way out and pushed in two this time. He increased the speed of both hands. His hips started to rock and he closed his eyes for a minute, imagining it was his cock sliding into John. He felt it twitch and start to grow, but he resisted the temptation, thinking about what might happen later. He kept the rhythm with his hips and hands. "Look back, John, I want to kiss your mouth."

John pushed himself on his hands again, took a deep breath and pushed off completely, standing now, arching back against Sherlock. He tilted his head back to find Sherlock's, looking for his mouth. 

Sherlock crashed into John's mouth, kissing him hard and then moved his hand from John's cock to the back of his head and pushed it down against the chair's cushion. He leaned over him and his hand returned to John's cock and said, "Come into my hand, John." He stayed bent over John and started going faster, jerking John's cock as he fucked him hard with his fingers.

John returned the kiss hungrily, not caring how sloppy it was. He groaned softly as he was pushed into the chair, the action bringing him even closer. John squeezed his eyes shut and came, jerking into Sherlock's hand, gripping the arm of his chair hard. He moaned softly with each wave of pleasure coursing through him.  

Sherlock stilled his hands and panted for a few minutes against John's heaving back. Then he slowly slid his fingers out of John and released his grip on John's cock. He helped John move over to Sherlock's chair and knelt down in front of him. He leaned into John and licked across the wetness on his belly. Then he dragged his already sticky fingers through it and lifted one up to John's mouth and said, "Taste it."

John flushed and met his eyes, looking at his fingers again, now covered with his own come. He opened his mouth and sucked Sherlock's finger, wincing lightly, but again only because of the mental thought that he was tasting himself. Taste-wise, it was like Sherlock's. 

Smiling, Sherlock said, "I love you, John Watson." Then he stood up, went to the kitchen and got two bottles of water. He returned to his chair and took John's hand. "Come on, our work in this room is done for the night. We need to lie down for a little rest. Your bed or mine?" he asked.

John drank some water and stood up. "You said earlier that mine would be easier," he reminded Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled.


	11. In John's Room

"All right then, you head up and I'll go get my pajamas." Sherlock handed John the bottles of water, bent down to snatch up his trousers and went off to his room. He grabbed his pajamas, dressing gown and then the lube from his bedside drawer. He walked into John's room, dropping the clothes on the floor next to the bed and setting the lube, obviously, on the nightstand. He lifted the duvet and slipped into John's bed.

"I was worried you were going to change out of that shirt," John smiled. "I'd like you to wear it as long as possible."

Sherlock smiled as he spooned himself around John. He rolled down one of the sleeves and slipped his arm around John's waist, moving his hand so it rested on the material. "Why do you like it?" he asked. "I'll wear it whenever you want me to." 

"It's sexy. A bit too small, fitted just right," John rubbed up and down the arm. "You look really good in it."

Sherlock flushed a bit and was glad he was behind John. He always tried to make himself look his best, but sexy really isn't a word he'd use to describe his appearance. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Have you enjoyed our evening so far?" He pushed his nose into John's hair and then put a few small kisses on the back of his neck.

John nodded. "I have . . . you're wonderful," he smiled.

"So true," Sherlock laughed. "Does your body hurt a lot? You were on your knees for a fair bit of time." He moved his hand to massage John's thigh.

"I'm all right," he said. "You can keep doing that, though," he grinned.

Sherlock rubbed a bit harder into the big muscle on the front of John's thigh. "Your body is . . . quite aesthetically pleasing," he said. "I never knew really, I mean I knew you had a body obviously, but I never got much of a look and certainly never touched quite as much of it as I have in the last day." He slid his hand around John's soft cock, just holding it. "This part, for example." He kissed the back of John's neck again and dragged his mouth down his spine to his shoulder blades. 

"I could say the same. I've never looked at a man the way I look at you," he said. "I just want to touch and taste every inch . . ."

"Well, I am rather exceptional," Sherlock said, laughing again. He rolled over onto his back and stretched his arms and legs, making a sound as he did. He sat up and took a quick sip of water. "John," he said, "could you do me a favour?"

"I'm serious, you've done something to me," he sighed. "Anyway . . . what's this favour?"

"Will you put your hands above your head, please?"

"Oh," John said, a bit thrown off, not having expected it just then. He settled down as comfortably as he could and he raised his arms, resting his fingers on the headboard. "Together or apart?"

"Together, please," Sherlock said. He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the belt from his dressing gown. He straddled John and quickly leaned down and kissed his mouth. Then he turned his attention to John's wrists, wrapping the belt around them and a post on the headboard. He tested the knot, keeping it loose enough that John could slid his wrists up or down. Then he sat back on John and said, "I don't doubt you could get out of that if you wanted to. But I don't want you to want to. You okay?"

"I might pull a bit hard and then I won't be able to help it," he said. "But yes, I'm okay."

"And you know what to say if it becomes . . . not okay?"

John nodded. "I remember."

"Good," Sherlock leaned down and kissed him one more time and then slid back to where he had been lying. He pushed back the sheet, closed his eyes and remained still. "I'm thinking of you, John," he said dreamily. He put one hand lazily on his hip and said, "I'm thinking of fucking you. When I fucked you last night. That's what I'm thinking of right now." His hand moved to his cock and he began stroking as it got harder. He kept his eyes closed.

"Well now I'm thinking about it, too," John said. He tugged at his wrists as he felt his cock getting hard.

"I'm thinking about pushing in. It was tight inside you," Sherlock's voice got slower but his hand started moving faster. "I'm thinking about pushing in and out of you, moving hard, pounding. It's making me want to come, John," his breath was picking up. "It felt so good. This feels good now, I want to come, I think."

John shifted to try to watch his hand. "Now?" he asked, shifting his hips.

"Yes, I think now," Sherlock said, stroking fast and rocking his hips a little. "And then . . . sleep."

"No sleep," John said, struggling harder. "What about me?"

"I'm thinking of you and I love that you let me put your hands above your head," Sherlock said, not turning to look at John. He kept stroking himself, his chest moving now from panting. "Fuck, John, it feels good."

John knew it was part of the game, and as much as he wanted to feel good to, there was something a bit thrilling about being denied for now. He hoped that, by playing along, he would get rewarded. "Are you thinking about when I was on top of you? Riding you?"

"I am now," Sherlock said, continuing his movement. "That was good, your moving so hard on top of me, you were gorgeous, John, just thinking of . . . it's too . . ." He didn't make any more words and panted as if he could barely breathe.

"My hard cock bouncing, beating both our stomachs as I moved . . .taking you in . . . " John continued, liking at least this small bit of power.

Sherlock stopped stroking himself and said, "Spread your legs, John." He didn't move.

John hung one leg of the bed so he could open them wide enough without kicking Sherlock. He bucked into the air uselessly.

Sherlock sat up and moved between John's legs. With one fingertip he drew a soft line from John's right calf up his inner thigh and then moved it to his left thigh and drew a line down to his knee. Then he hovered his finger over John's hole, not touching any part of his body. "I was in here," Sherlock said softly. "What else could go in here?"

Wild ideas ran through John's panicked mind before he got a hold of himself. "Um . . . your fingers," he said. He suddenly wondered if Sherlock had any toys laying around, and he felt his stomach flip.

Sherlock looked up at John. "Relax," he said softly and rubbed one of John's legs. "And if I said I wanted something else, what would your thoughts be? You can say -- I'm trying to find out your limits, not push you over them." He kept stroking John's legs.

"It would depend, I suppose," John answered. He knew Sherlock would never hurt him, and that used properly toys would feel very good. That is if he could let go of his mental nerves.

"Let's try this," Sherlock said, as he got down on his belly between John's legs. He dragged his tongue across John's balls and then over his hole. He could still taste the lube from earlier, which wasn't particularly nice tasting. He moved his tongue around John's opening, with long, slow strokes and quick flicks. Then he pushed his tongue into the tightness. He slid his arms under John's thighs and lifted his face to nuzzle and suck his balls. Then he moved back to John's hole, using his tongue to probe into it, humming as he did. His own cock, pressed against the bed, got harder.

"Sherlock!" John gasped, flushing darkly as he felt Sherlock's tongue. He tugged on the belt, his instinct to push him away, but he had to admit it felt good. He bit his lip, holding back a moan.

The way John said his name, a combination of surprise and pleasure, was sexy to Sherlock. He pushed in his tongue again and again. He wanted John to feel good -- yes, it was about the feeling but, for Sherlock, it was also about the knowing, both of them knowing he could do this to John. Something else John had never done -- possibly never even thought of doing -- with someone else. He moved his mouth to the fold where John's leg met his body and licked and sucked. The skin was warm and pink and Sherlock made it wet. He trailed his mouth everywhere between John's legs, making all of it wet.

"Jesus," John breathed, writhing lightly and tugging on his arms again. His mind was a mess of pleasure and surprise and wonder. He was embarrassed, but mostly because he was enjoying it and in his wildest dreams he would've never imagined it happening.

"Do you want my fingers, John?" Sherlock said, lifting his head.

John nodded. "Yes please," he said, still squirming lightly.

"Not yet," he said and he lifted his body and moved up and over John, straddling his chest, stroking his own cock slowly. "Would you put it in your mouth now? Now, when you have no control?" He looked at John.

John sighed when Sherlock said no and watched him as he climbed up. He looked at Sherlock's cock and nodded. "Yeah," he looked up at Sherlock. "I will." 

Sherlock shifted his body closer to John's. "Close your eyes," he said, "and open your mouth." When John did, he lifted his cock and slid it against John's tongue. "Stay like that," he said and he slowly rocked, just moving the tip in and out. "That's nice," he said softly, "a bit more now." He pushed in just to the back of John's tongue and then rocked again, rubbing himself against the warm wetness. He lifted both hands to the wall behind him. "Open your eyes," he said, looking down, "and look at me."

When their eyes met, Sherlock asked breathily,"More?"

John nodded around his cock, lifting his head to take more. He was nervous, just a bit, at how much Sherlock would do. He fucked Sherlock's mouth earlier and wondered if he could handle doing something like that.

And for a moment, Sherlock thought about pushing in, pushing himself down John's throat, keeping his own hands above his head as he had no control over the situation either. But he didn't do that. Instead, he said, "No," and slid away from John, crawling back down to lie on top of him. "Will you let me kiss you?" he asked softly.

John sighed again and let his head fall back against the pillow. He thought about kissing Sherlock now, thought about where his mouth had been. _You're curious_ , said the voice in his head. _Filthy indeed._ John flushed and nodded. "I'll kiss you," he said.

Sherlock leaned into John and they kissed softly and as the kiss grew longer, it also grew harder and Sherlock slipped his tongue, just a bit into John's mouth, and then pulled away. "I want to come, John, will you help me?" he asked.

John nodded. "Yes . . . anything. What do you want me to do?"

"Turn over," Sherlock reached up for John's hands and helped him slide the knot down to against the mattress. "Twist the belt, not your wrists, I don't want it to hurt you," he instructed. He pushed the pillows out of the way. "Lie flat on your belly." Once John was in position, Sherlock got up and stood by the bed, looking at him. "You're so gorgeous," he said, and slipped back to sit next to him. He ran one hand softly from the top of John's head down his shoulders and his back to the curve of his arse. "You're just beautiful," he almost whispered and he realised his other hand was holding his own cock. He sat admiring John for a few minutes, softly touching his back; each time he moved his hand, the touch was lighter and lighter.

Then Sherlock lifted himself over John and reached for the lube. He held the bottle above John's body and let some dribble out, sliding down between his arse cheeks. He spread his hand across the top of John's arse and let his fingers just dip in the crack. Then Sherlock gently lay on top of him. "Keep your legs together," he told John as Sherlock positioned his hips, so that his cock lay in the now slick line between John's arse cheeks. He let his knees fall on either side of John's legs and he began moving his body, sliding his hard cock against John. He kept moving, a slow, steady rhythm, feeling himself getting harder. Little sounds came from his mouth and his pulse increased. He said John's name as he just kept bucking, using the movement against John's body to increase his urge.

There was something a bit peaceful about him lying here, letting Sherlock touch and whisper about him. He hummed when he felt the lube dripping onto his arse, moving against his hand as he rubbed his crack, somehow more intimate than touching him entrance. And then Sherlock was fucking that line -- gliding against it but not entering. "Sherlock," John moaned softly, trying to arch up against him. 

"Lie still, John," Sherlock said. "Just let me . . . move." He closed his eyes and imagined, like he was watching them from a distance. It was almost like it was happening in slow motion and for a second it all seemed so beautiful that Sherlock thought it might make him cry. So he shook that picture out of his mind and opened his eyes and came back to this, to now. He thrust a little harder against John. He asked, "Do you like this feeling, of lying here letting me do this? Are you hard?"

"I have been," John said, feeling his cock pressing into the mattress. "I like everything you do to me. You . . . it all feels so good."

"Would it be all right if I fucked you now?" Sherlock asked.

John let out a breathless chuckle. "Yes, please," he said. "Please. Please fuck me," he added, because he knew Sherlock liked when he said that. 

Sherlock said, "Lift up your hips," and he moved behind John, between his legs. He poured more lube into his hand and stroked himself and then touched John's lower back, dragging his hand between his cheeks. "Relax your body, John, I'm going to put my fingers where my mouth has been," and he pushed two fingers into John and began slowly pumping them.

John sighed loudly, small moans escaping as he focused on Sherlock's fingers. He tugged his wrists, not for any real reason other than to remember that, too. "Feels good," he said quietly.  

Sherlock increased the speed and thrust of his fingers. He could feel his cock leaking and aching and he so wanted to push into John. He separated his fingers, stretching him. "John, I'm thinking about fucking you, I'm thinking about being inside you, pounding and coming inside you. Is that what you want me to do? Tell me what you want me to do."

John started panting. "Yes. I want you to fuck me . . .hard, like last night. I want to feel your cock in my belly again, filling me, stretching me. Please."

Sherlock slipped his fingers out and pushed his cock inside John. He was tight around him and he thought he might explode just from the sensation of filling John, of John's body being filled by him. So he tried to gather his breath and slowed his brain and told John, but really himself, to be patient. He slowly pulled himself almost all the way out before slowly pushing back in. Each moment of movement seemed to last forever. He kept like this; teasing himself into John's body, savoring every inch of movement.

"God, Sherlock," John moaned, shifting his body. "You feel so fucking good."

Sherlock moved his hands to John's hips and pulled John's body to meet his own in the slow rocking. Then he swallowed and sped up, moving both their hips faster and then harder until he was pounding into John. He wanted to take John's breath away, Sherlock was losing his own breath and he kept pounding until he felt the electricity start within him and then he slowed again and then pulled all the way out. "Pull yourself up. Lift your hands and get up on your knees," he said hurriedly, moving his body towards the headboard and sneaking in between John and the wall. He separated John's legs with his own and he leaned against the headboard, sitting part way up with John now straddling his hips. He held his cock and lined it up with John's slick opening. He looked up at John's face and said, "Push down onto me. As slowly as you can. Feel everything."

John grunted softly as his body rocked with Sherlock's movements. Again he whimpered when Sherlock pulled out, shuffling up onto his knees and straddling him. "Slowly," he repeated, starting to sink down. It took everything in him not to slam down and fill himself again. He bit his lip and focused on every inch going inside of him. It seemed like ages when he was finally all the way down, gazing at Sherlock. "Can I move?"  
  
As John moved, Sherlock closed his eyes, groaned and called out John's name. Why couldn't this moment last forever? Which was a stupid thought because Sherlock knew what was coming next and wanted that just as much. "Hard now, John, do it hard," Sherlock said, gripping John's legs to steady him. "For just a few minutes. As hard as you can take it."

John came up to the tip and slammed down, properly bouncing, a crude slapping sound filling the air. He panted and moaned and slammed down and down and down, loving the feeling of Sherlock shooting into his body like that. 

Sherlock watched John slamming into him, watched every expression on John's face. Until the watching threatened to push him over. He lifted his hands to John's arms and said, "Slow again." John's movement shifted and Sherlock dragged his hands down John's arms and untied the belt from the headboard. "I need to untie these, John, because I am going to ask you to move. But when I say 'put your hands over your head,' I want you to reach up and hold on as if you were still tied, okay?"

John slowed down again, moving steadily up and down. He nodded. "I will," he breathed. "How -- how am I moving?"

"Move so you can turn yourself around now, like you said earlier. You're going to face the other way and fuck yourself on me as you just did," Sherlock instructed. "You're going to be sore tomorrow, John, your arms and legs will ache, but do it anyway." He watched John shake his arms a bit and then helped him shift himself, kneeling above Sherlock again, facing away from him. "Lean forward for just a minute," he said, which made it easier to line himself up. He pushed the tip in and then said, "Slowly, John, lean back and push me in. Sit up and then stay still."

John turned his back to Sherlock and moved slowly down, taking him into his body again. When he was seated he turned his head to look at Sherlock before facing forward again, holding his thighs tightly. John leaned back slowly, resting his body against Sherlock. 

Sherlock said, "Now shift your legs, put all your weight on me, shift them so your feet are flat on the bed, knees bent. One leg on either side of me. Go slow." John moved his legs around in front of him. "Now lift your hands over your head. You're tied again, John." Even just the movement of John raising his arms affected Sherlock's cock.  
  
"Fuck," Sherlock said. "Is it all right for you? It's different, but it feels incredible. I want to move, John, I want you to move, but before we do, I need to know it doesn't hurt."

John got onto his feet like Sherlock asked and reached up to grip the headboard. "I-I'm only going to be able to move like this for a bit," John admitted, his legs already a bit sore. 

"I'm only going to be able to move like this for a bit because I am going to come into you, John," Sherlock said, sliding his hand around to John's cock. He tilted his hips and started rocking, pressing against the bed and using its bounce to help him move. He stroked John as he said, "Press your hands against the wall, press me further into you." His body was already tensing, knowing this time it was going to get release. It wasn't the same thrusting in and out, he was already all the way in and their smaller movements made him feel like he was going just that much deeper. "Fuck, John, fuck," Sherlock groaned. He was so close but kept jerking John, wanting to feel John come and his body tighten around him. 

"Y-yes . . . like--like that," John moaned, falling against Sherlock, squeezing the bed, feeling the heat pooling into his belly. He wished he could see them -- Sherlock's cock moving while John sat in his lap. "I'm -- fuck -- " He didn't even get the words out. He came all over himself, on Sherlock's hand, moaning and whimpering Sherlock name over and over again. 

And then it was Sherlock's time. The tightness, John saying his name, his wet hand, the sheer exhaustion -- Sherlock came into John, pressing his hips up as far as he could, his legs frozen with tension. And then the release and he sank back, John's weight panting on him, panting against John. "Fuck, John," were the only words he could mumble, as he slowly lifted his tired arms to bring John's down from the wall.

John laced the fingers of both of their hands, panting heavily. He knew he should move, but soon. He just needed a minute. "Sherlock . . . God," he mumbled, turning his head to smile softly against his cheek. 

Sherlock was smiling, too, getting dozy in the sensation of being spent. He didn't want to move, but both of their bodies would be sore tomorrow and falling asleep like this would make it a thousand times worse. "We're going to have to move, I'm afraid," Sherlock whispered. "Don't try to lift yourself up. We need to roll to the side and I'll slide out," he said and then laughed softly. "My god, John, we have been all over the place since coming in here." He held his arms tight around John's chest and helped them lean to the side. He slid out of John and then exhaled,"Fuck, I'm exhausted."

John sighed as he lay a bit more comfortably, settling into Sherlock's arms and holding his hand again. "You? I have to work in the morning," John said, already half asleep. 

Sherlock felt a sick feeling shoot through his body. "Don't go," he said first, hoping it sounded like a joke even though it didn't feel like one.

"And how should I call in? Fucked senseless?" John joked, even thought in all honesty he knew he was going to have a rough day tomorrow.

"The truth is always better than a lie," Sherlock said, finding his lighter voice. "Will you be home early? I will reward you with a treat if you said yes." His voice was almost convincing himself now. Yes, this is fine. It's fine. 

"I'll try very hard to be home early," John said. "Will you meet me for lunch?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, relaxing a bit. That was good, that was better. "Of course," he snuggled into John's back and closed his eyes.

"Okay, good. That way it won't seem like I am gone as long," John mumbled. "Night, love . . ." John drifted off his mind too tired and spent to even dream.

When he woke up, he thought about sneaking out of bed but knew Sherlock wouldn't like that, even though John was doing it with good intentions. He turned, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest, and he lightly stroked Sherlock's cheek. 

Sherlock's sleep was not restful: he kept waking up, each time forgetting where he was. But he didn't get up, trying not to disturb John. When he felt John's hand on his face, he opened his eyes.

"I have to get ready," John said quietly. "I didn't want you to wake up to an empty bed."

"Get ready for what?" he mumbled as he moved his body slowly to wake up. Then he remembered that John was going into work and he wanted to thrash about on the bed making a scene until John said he would stay. But he didn't do that, because he was different now, he told himself. "What time for lunch?" he asked, trying to focus on when he would see John, rather than when he wouldn't.

"Around noon, or a little after," John said. He winced as he stood -- everything hurt -- but he made his way to the bathroom and took a shower with hot water for his muscles. He got out and dressed in the room, smiling at Sherlock on the bed still.

"I'm sorry you're sore," Sherlock said. "I don't want you to regret it, I don't, but I am sorry you're sore. If it makes you feel any better, my legs feel quite wobbly. Maybe I should stay in bed? I could rest for both of us," he said, smiling sleepily.

"I don't regret a single second of it," John said. He walked over to Sherlock and kissed his forehead. "See you for lunch, love," he murmured before leaving. It was a slow trek down the stairs and he grabbed a cab.

Sherlock stood at the window and watched John leave. It didn't seem right now, to get back into John's bed. He tried to tidy it up a little, though he wasn't really sure how to get rid of the smell of sex that filled the room so he cracked the window just a bit and left the door open. He walked down to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, which he took to his desk. He checked his email, which was dull, and read the newspaper, which was also dull. He wanted John to come back.


	12. A Lunch Date

Sherlock picked up his phone.

_Have a good day. SH_

He sent the text, he told himself, just to remind John. But the minute he hit Send, he was able to think more clearly. Remind John of what? Of Sherlock's existence? He set the phone down. Then he picked it up and set it down again, turning it over and sliding it under some papers. 

_You too. See you soon. -JW_

John was slow seeing patients. It was hard to get up to move and he tried to get through as many as possible without actually having to get up. He hoped he and Sherlock could stay here for lunch.

When Sherlock heard his phone, he grabbed it. He couldn't decide if he felt relief or disappointment. What were you expecting? he asked himself, but then responded by telling himself to shut up. He turned his attention back to his work, concentrating on the file and what he and John had found yesterday at the library. He told himself that he would not think about anything but this for at least one hour. He made it about twenty minutes before starting to think of John, but then he caught himself and went back to work.

John knew if he didn't speed it up he'd have to stay late. The thought was enough to make him move faster, but it was hard. The patients were also difficult today.

At eleven o'clock Sherlock got up and took a shower. He got dressed, put on his coat and realised he was still too early. So he sat down at the table for another cup of tea, still wearing his coat. Then he got a cab to the surgery.

_It's a rough day. Can't wait for lunch. -JW_

_I'm on my way. Should I bring food in? SH_

_Please. -JW._

_Will bring sandwiches. See you soon. SH_

Sherlock asked the cab to stop by a sandwich shop near the surgery. He got two sandwiches, a bag of crisps and two cups of tea. He walked to the surgery and nodded to Sarah, before heading back to John's office. He knocked.

"Dr Watson?" he said through the door.

John grinned. "Come in," he said, slowly standing up and coming to the door.

Sherlock smiled when he first saw John. He was still as gorgeous as he was a few hours ago and was still Sherlock's. He leaned in and kissed him quickly, pushing the door shut behind him.

John smiled into the kiss. "It's good to see you," he said.

"It's good to see you," Sherlock said. He set the food and tea on John's desk and saw down. "I hope I don't catch whatever the last person who sat here had," he said.

"No, no, the last person just had a UTI," John said, digging into his sandwich. "How's your day going?"

"I've been working," Sherlock said, awkwardly proudly. "And thinking . . ." he glanced at the door. "Let me ask you first, though, how's your body?"

John smiled. "A bit sore . . . I feel like I did my first day after boot camp," he laughed.

"Should we have a . . . softer night this evening?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "Not that I can't handle it," he smiled. "But after last night that might be a good idea."

"Yes, soft things can also be nice," Sherlock said mysteriously. "Shall we plan a stay-home date for six o'clock?"

"Okay," John agreed. "I get off at five so that's perfect."

"Good, it's a date then," Sherlock ate a few bites of his sandwich, then looked at it and said, "this sandwich is not delicious."

John chuckled. "It's all right. It does the job."

"You're a pretty doctor," Sherlock said. "Don't let your patients fall for you."

"I'm a happily taken man," John grinned.

Sherlock smiled stupidly at John. "I think I might go buy you a present on the way home," Sherlock said. "I'm feeling quite sweet on you."

John snorted a laugh. "Don't do that. It's fine," he said.

"Don't worry. It'll be a soft present for our soft evening," Sherlock said, putting the rubbish into the bag. He took the last sip of a tea and started to stand up. "Can we have a little kiss before I go?"

"Just a little one?" John asked smiling, pecking his cheek again.

Sherlock pulled John to him and gave him a soft, but long kiss. He lifted one hand and gently held John's cheek. "I can't wait until you come home," he whispered.

"I can't either," John said. "Now go on, I'm behind already," he smiled.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I liked having lunch with you. I'll see you in a few hours." He took the bag and left, nodding again at Sarah. He dumped the bag in a bin by the door and started walking down the street. He had an idea and knew precisely where he needed to go.

He walked into a shop down a little alley. He walked directly to the counter, where he spoke to a tall, thin man. He left with a pink bag that he didn't mind carrying down the road. He was being impulsive and silly and that's okay when you're in love, he told himself. He returned to the flat and took the bag into his room, laughing to himself.

He threw a pair of pink fur handcuffs onto his bed, along with a pink silk scarf and a few bottles of lube that the tall, thin man assured him was not so unpleasant tasting. He left them on the bed, imagining John's face when he saw them. He looked at the clock and thought about how he'd spend the next few hours.

John started seeing patients again, slowly making his way through his appointments. Around four thirty Sarah peeked in, looking a bit nervous. "John? I hate to ask this but Jones just called in, something with her kid being sick . . ." John watched her, knowing what was coming. "I am going to see most of her patients but maybe -- could you take a few of them? Please?"

He wanted to say no. The word was half way out of his mouth when Sarah bit her lip. He could hear the crowd in the lobby and knew if he didn't help her she would be here all night. "Um . . . yeah, of course."

"John, thank you! You're a life saver, really," she said, hurrying back out. John pulled out his phone and debated calling Sherlock to tell him, knowing his voice would show how sorry he was better than a text. But he didn't think he'd be able to stand the hurt in Sherlock's voice, so he did the cowardly thing and texted. 

_I'm so sorry, Sherlock, but the other doctor called off and I have to stay and help. I'm going to be a bit later coming home than I thought. -JW_


	13. Sherlock Confuses Himself

Sherlock was in the shower and didn't hear his phone. When he dried off, he got dressed and went into the sitting room. He sat down at his desk. He realised that he felt a little sick to his stomach. Why?

He and John had lived together for quite some time; there were many days that John had been at work and Sherlock had stayed home. There were even days when Sherlock was anxious for John to come home; he had waited for John before. But he hadn't felt like this before.

It was just eagerness, right? That was okay, right? Love's like that especially at the beginning. Right?

Sherlock stood up from his chair and then sat back down again. He looked up at the clock. It wouldn't be long now, John would be home and everything would be good. They were having a date tonight, a soft night -- he thought of his silly surprise, he thought of them both having a laugh. They were both eager, they both were looking forward to tonight. John had said he couldn't wait.

Sherlock put the kettle on and set out two mugs. He sat down at the table and thought about last night. It had been so good. He had liked everything that they had done. He had liked the way it all felt. He liked that John had liked it all, too. He had, hadn't he? He seemed to. Don't be stupid, he told himself, John loves you.

Is that why John had gone along with everything? Just because he loved him? Was that a good thing? Was John already giving things up to just to please him? He thought about that moment when his cock was in John's mouth, when he wanted to push it down John's throat. John had said more was okay. The second time John had ever given a blow job and Sherlock had wanted more, too much, and John would have gone along with it. Just to please him.

That's why Sherlock felt sick to his stomach. It was happening again -- he wanted too much, he was going too far. It was happening again. He went up to his bedroom, put the surprise in his drawer and lay down on his bed. He needed to calm down, he needed to just be normal. He needed to be like he had been before -- just be at home and John would come in from work and everything would just be normal. He looked at the clock. 

John should have been home by now. 

Had John been hurt? Maybe he got hit by a car, maybe he was in hospital? Jesus, Sherlock, he told himself, get a fucking grip. _Be normal_. Of course, John hadn't been hurt. What difference did it make what time John came back? How many times had Sherlock been late in his life? Many. What difference had that made?

He sat up. He couldn't take the not knowing. The not knowing was unbearable. He was embarrassed by just how unbearable it was. He would just text John, just make sure he wasn't dead, and then he'd pull himself together and be normal. He got up to get his phone and read John's text.

Fine, he thought. John's not dead. He's just working late. That's fine. Why wouldn't it be fine -- John was just at the surgery, he was working, he wasn't doing anything upsetting, he wasn't doing anything to hurt Sherlock, just working. That's all. Sometimes people worked late.

But Sherlock did feel hurt. Why would John agree to work late? This was like the second proper day of their relationship and John was already working late, he already needed an excuse to have time away from him. John had said, be yourself Sherlock, just ask for whatever you want, it'll be fine. It clearly wasn't fine. John had said, let me decide if it's too much. It clearly was already too much.

Sherlock stared at his phone. He knew he had to write someting. He hit reply and stared. He put his thumb on zero and hit it over and over until the whole screen filled with zeroes. And then he deleted them and typed.

_Fine. SH_

John was worried. He hadn't heard from Sherlock, and he'd been checking his phone obsessively since he'd sent the message. There was nothing, and nothing, and nothing and he was starting to panic. Sherlock must be furious. After planning the date and saying he was going to buy a present and now John couldn't be there. When he got a small break, waiting for an older woman to make her way into the office, he pulled out his phone to send another apology and finally saw Sherlock's answer. Oh. John's stomach twisted with guilt, but these things happened.

_I'm so sorry. It won't be much longer. I miss you. -JW_

John sent the message and helped the woman sit down. 

_Love you. -JW_

He stuffed the phone away and sat down to listen to her, his mind stuck on the phone.

Sherlock had put his phone on the mantelpiece, promising himself he wouldn't look at it. He was concentrating very hard on being normal. And then the phone buzzed. And then it buzzed again. He walked over to it and read the texts.

So this was the game John was going to play.

Sherlock saw his face in the mirror and looked away. He sat down on the arm of John's chair and put his head in his hands. John wasn't playing a game. John wouldn't do that.

Others had. In fact they all had, even that first boy back in school. Sherlock pushed and pushed him and the boy kept saying he wanted to spend time with him, all the while spending less and less time with him. Making excuses, blaming his parents, still pretending that everything was okay, that he still liked Sherlock, that he was sorry. And then somehow it just happened, somehow not hanging out together turned into not speaking to each other. Not speaking turned into his ignoring Sherlock in the hallway which had turned into something else. Which Sherlock had deleted.

That's what had happened when he was a child. The adult version had been even worse.

Is that what was happening now with John? But John was different, different enough that Sherlock had been convinced to give it a go. Perhaps John's difference was just that he was smarter than the others -- perhaps John had just realised his mistake faster. That's why John was delaying returning home. Because he was going to tell Sherlock he had changed his mind.

Sherlock picked up his phone. He set it down again. And then he picked it up, carried it into the kitchen and put it in the fridge. He walked upstairs, took off his clothes and crawled into his bed. He put the radio on, turning up the volume all the way, and closed his eyes, making himself get lost in the external noise which was so much more comforting than the noise already inside his head.

John checked his phone. Again, there was no answer. And no answer. And after another four patients it was finally over. John grabbed his coat, didn't even lock the office door, didn't say good night to Sarah, and just ran out of there. He hailed a cab and took his phone out again, just in case. But it never lit up. It never vibrated. When he got home he could hear sounds at the top of the stairs. When he got inside he realised the radio was on, playing nonsense. "Sherlock?" he called out, dropping his coat on his chair and looking through the flat. John went into his room, saw first the pile of clothes on the floor, and then Sherlock curled up in bed. The radio was deafening in there. 

Had he been waiting in bed the whole time? Was the surprise a naked Sherlock, now asleep because he'd taken too long? No. Something was wrong. He could feel it -- hanging heavy in the air, almost crushing. "Sherlock?" he called out again, moving to turn the radio off. The silence hit him like a ton of bricks. It was eerie and it made him nervous. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."  

Sherlock did not move on the bed. He did not turn, he was barely even lifting his chest to breath.

"I've changed my mind, John."

There. He'd said it first. And now it could all be done.

John felt a wave of dizziness and he touched the wall to make sure he wouldn't fall over. "You . . . what do you mean?" he asked, trying not to panic. 

"We were wrong, you were wrong. It isn't different, we aren't different. I'm still the same. Even if you don't know it yet, which I imagine you do, it won't work and we're better off stopping it now before it's horrible because it kind of already is horrible, isn't it, it's not normal and I can't be normal and you'll work later and later and you won't want to come home and it won't feel like home anymore anyway and I'll be the one who goes since I'm the one who's ruined it."

This was why Sherlock did not like talking about emotions.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said.

John stared down at the ground. Oh. So Sherlock thought he stayed at work because he hadn't wanted to come home. John couldn't be angry. Sherlock had warned him about this, told him that this is how he gets. He sighed and looked up at the man curled under the blanket. "Look. I didn't work late because I didn't want to come home. I worked late because I had to. I know that you have these thoughts, that you can't help them. But did you think that, just maybe, no one actually leaves you? That you just push them away? The way you're pushing me away now?" He moved to step closer but then changed his mind. He couldn't do anything if Sherlock wouldn't let him. He turned the radio back on, the sound startling him a bit, and then he left the room, going up to his own and shutting himself in. 

Sherlock lay on his bed, weighed down by all his assumptions and expectations. They were too heavy on him and it felt like he couldn't breathe and if he couldn't breathe, he obviously couldn't think and for a moment, he was glad. He considered lying there, not breathing or thinking, letting the radio drown out all other noise until there was just nothing.

People had left him. Sherlock had driven, not pushed them away. John was wrong; that part of Sherlock's history was true. He knew it was and it made his face feel hot with humiliation and hurt.

But Sherlock thought about today. About how everything was fine: everything was fine before lunch -- he was slightly distracted, yes, but he was able to work. And then lunch was fine -- it was better than fine, it was nice and John had requested it. And then after lunch was fine -- Sherlock had bought John a silly present because he thought it would make him smile and they could have a playful night. In fact, everything today has been fine until an hour before John was supposed to get home. And that had been all Sherlock's doing.

A good day, a bad hour, and Sherlock had chosen to end it.

This was crazy behaviour and Sherlock knew it.

Despite this, Sherlock still possessed logic. And his logic told him he had two options.

He could leave it as is. John didn't deserve crazy behaviour; no matter how much Sherlock loved him, it wasn't fair to say that love had to come with craziness. Let this be the last crazy day and let John go.

This option made Sherlock's heart hurt.

The other option -- John's suggestion really -- stop going at it alone. What might have happened had -- the very first moment Sherlock realised his stomach hurt -- he had texted John and told him he felt anxious?

Sherlock would have felt humiliated. But he felt humiliated now.

Perhaps John would have thought he was being stupid and crazy. But Sherlock felt stupid and crazy now.

But just maybe John would have sent a text back that could have stopped the anxiety in its tracks and Sherlock could have handled that last hour and right now they'd be lying on Sherlock's bed and laughing at the gift and everything would have gone as he wanted to, a fine end to an otherwise fine day.

Sherlock reached for his phone but it wasn't next to the bed. He was going to have to do this with his voice, not written words. He walked to John's bedroom and knocked on the door.

John had sunk down on the floor in front of the door, and when he heard the knock he stood up quickly, turning to face it. "Yes?" he asked, not opening it just yet.

"Why did you let me tie your hands last night, John?" Sherlock said softly, not making a move to open the door.

The question was so unexpected John almost laughed. But he didn’t, because Sherlock's voice was so . . . quiet. "I . . . it was fun. I thought we were having fun," John said, moving closer to the door to talk through it. "It was sexy."

"What about if I had wanted to . . ." Sherlock's mind searched for options but he couldn't think of anything, ". . . do something you hadn't thought was fun or sexy. Would you have let me?"

"No. That's why we had a word -- the safety word. Everything we did I wanted to do. I liked it." John leaned against the door. Is that what this was about? Was Sherlock feeling guilty? 

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly. "You were right. I didn't trust you. I let my head talk myself into believing things about you that weren't true. And then it went . . . to craziness. I'm sorry."

John unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open, looking up at Sherlock. "I forgive you," he said, reaching out to touch his hand, holding it. 

Sherlock held John's hand but couldn't look up. "I don't want the craziness, John. It hurts me, it makes . . . just _being_ unbearable. And I don't want it to hurt you. That makes it even worse. I don't know how to stop it on my own."

"That's why I said I would help, that we would do it together," John said. "Just text or call me, talk to me. Whatever time or whatever you're thinking.."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, leaning closer. "I'm so, so sorry."

John pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Sherlock tightly. "It's okay," he said quietly. "It's okay."

"I just want you to love me, John. I don't want to drive you away, I don't want you to leave me," Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder and let himself be held in John's arms.

"I know," he said gently. "I do love you. I won't leave you." John pulled back and held his cheeks lightly. "Let's have some tea, yeah? Watch a film or something?"

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and swallowed. "Tea, please." He walked with John to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. He splashed some water on his face and dried it off with some kitchen roll. "So," he said, his voice not sounding quite right just yet, "how was work?" he smiled weakly as he said it.

John smiled, getting their mugs together. "Busy. So very busy. We were swamped already and then Jones called off and it was a mess. I am glad to be home."

"I wish I could have welcomed you like I had intended to," Sherlock said.

"And how was that?" John asked. "Did you get the present? What was it?"

Sherlock flushed. "It was just a little joke, it was stupid, it seems stupid now. I can . . . tell you later." He sat down at the table and watched John make the tea. "Can we still have a soft evening or have I ruined it?"

John opened the fridge to get the milk and spotted Sherlock's phone. His stomach twisted and he wondered what had gone on while Sherlock waited for him to come home. It scared him, only because Sherlock had been alone. He took Sherlock's phone out and fixed up the tea, putting the milk away and leaving his phone on the counter. "Of course we can still have our night," John said, sitting across from him. "I would like that."

Sherlock looked up at John and saw the phone on the counter behind him. "I'm sorry, John," he said softly, acknowledging. "It's like I can't stop it once it starts . . ." He reached for his mug, brushing John's hand.

"I know, love. I'm not mad," he assured Sherlock. John rubbed his hand lightly before sipping at his tea. "Let's move to the sofa, sit a bit more comfortably." 

Sherlock stood up, god, his body was exhausted already, craziness was exhausting. He set his tea on the table and sank down on the sofa. He slumped over and curled into John's lap.


	14. The Soft Night

John reached down to pet Sherlock's hair. "Will you tell me how the greeting would have gone?" he asked quietly. 

"I would have had a cup of tea for you and sat at the table and asked you about your day. I might have told you about the work I did this morning and about it being Mrs Hudson's birthday next week, which it is by the way, so we should do something for her. And then I would have asked if you were ready for our soft evening and sent you into my bedroom where your surprise was waiting for you," Sherlock stroked his hand mindlessly across John's thigh. 

"Our little cuddle here is nice," John said quietly, "and like I said, the evening is not ruined. Maybe you can still set up the surprise?" He smiled softly, wondering what it was.

"Maybe," Sherlock said, enjoying being in John's lap, "it's just something silly so don't get your hopes up." After what had happened, and what he had worried about, he felt a bit nervous about the handcuffs and scarves. But he tried to remind himself to believe John rather than the voices in his head. "It's not really a present for you, it's for us. And it's just a joke kind of."

"Everything you keep telling me about this surprise makes me more and more curious about it," John smiled. 

"Fine, if you want it, go get it," Sherlock said, looking up at John and smiling back.

"No, I will be patient," he said. "How did you have it set up? On the bed? I want to walk in on it like you planned." John was determined to show him that, even when things got a bit bumpy, they would move on normally, that things didn't have to change or get ruined.  

"Oh fine," Sherlock said, pinching John's arm lightly. "Do you always have to get your way?" he teased. He slid off the sofa and went to his room and got out his purchase. Instead of laying it on the bed, he kept it in the pink bag and just sat that on the duvet. He returned to the sofa, snuggled down again, and said, "It's ready whenever you want to go in. Did you have booby trap training in the Army? All I'm saying is just . . .be . . . very . . . careful." He looked up at John, who he loved, and smiled.

"What exactly is going to happen to me in there?" John laughed. 

"Who can be sure? But we do have bandages in the house, right?" Sherlock was so glad they could laugh. A few hours ago, he had been so sure he'd never laugh again.

John grinned and shook his head. "I am going to see," John said, gently pulling away from Sherlock and standing up. "Are you coming with me or is it too dangerous?"

"I'll come with but I'll just stand back a bit, to avoid the aftershocks," Sherlock said standing up to follow John. Before John opened the bedroom door, he added, "Remember, before my little meltdown, we were supposed to be having a soft night."

John's mind was a jumbled mess of what might be in there, but he moved forward and saw the bag. He approached it slowly and, without touching it, peeked inside. He snorted a laugh and covered his mouth quickly, unsure if that was the appropriate reaction. But he couldn't help it. Everything was pink. And as he shifted through the back, he grinned wider and wider, looking over to Sherlock with the pink furry cuffs dangling from one finger, his eyebrows raised.

"Pink's soft, right?" Sherlock said, "soft and calm. That's all I was thinking. I mean, I was going to buy you a bouquet of pink flowers, but strangely the shop I was in didn't sell flowers." His face felt flush but he smiled.

"Oh? How strange of them," John said. He pulled out one of the scarves. "Do I . . .wear this?" He wrapped it around his neck. "Or are you going to be more sinister?" He covered his eyes with it like a blindfold and turned to Sherlock.

"Soft," Sherlock said, "not sinister." He stepped up to John and kissed his mouth gently. "See? Soft."

John let the scarf fall around his shoulders again. He pecked Sherlock's lips, kissed a bit harder, and nodded. "Soft," he smiled. 

Sherlock slid onto the bed, leaning against the back wall. "Any thoughts . . . on the presents?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

"You were right about them being silly," he smiled. "I like them. They're like nothing we'd ever have and that makes me like them more." 

"They made me laugh, though you should have seen the chap at the shop -- he took them very seriously," Sherlock said. "But perhaps we might be able to find a use for them?"

"Yes, I believe we can," John smiled, climbing up on the bed. He forgot he was still wearing the scarf. "Does soft mean funny? Do you want me to take my clothes off as wrap the scarves around my waist?" He grinned, embarrassed by the idea but suggesting it anyways. 

"No, I was thinking that you could wrap them around your head like a middle aged woman. Maybe you could strip naked except for an apron and then scrub the floors for me? Mmm . . . sexy," Sherlock said laughing.

John wrapped the scarf around his head and grinned at Sherlock. "Like this? Am I sexy now?" 

"Definitely," Sherlock said, reaching to grab at John. "Do you mind if I call you Gertrude in bed? Or were you prefer Mildred?"

"Um . . . it's obviously Betty Mae," John said seriously, dodging his grasp. 

"Come lie beside me, Betty Mae," Sherlock said softly, holding his arms up so John would lean into and snuggle him.

John wrinkled his nose but he crawled over to Sherlock's side, smiling. He took off the scarf and draped it over both of them as he curled into him. 

Sherlock put his arm around John and stroked him softly. "We don't always have to . . . use stuff like this, you know," he said, "it's not essential for me."

"I know," John nodded. "It's not essential to me, either. As long as you're here," he smiled. 

"What should we do now?" Sherlock asked. His voice didn't have a hint of expectation. Whatever John wanted would be fine just as long as he stayed beside Sherlock.

"You seemed a bit tired on the sofa," John mentioned. "Want to just . . . cuddle and sleep tonight? We can use these things tomorrow?"

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Will you sleep in here with me?"

"Of course I will," John said. "I don't just sleep here when you sexually exhaust me." John smiled and got off the bed, packing away the gifts for tomorrow. He stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed. "Come on, love," he said, opening his arms. 

Sherlock undressed as well and slipped into the bed. "Are you sure you want to leave these on?" Sherlock said, sliding around John and pulling on the waistband of his pants.

"Well, now I'm not so sure," John smiled. He reached under the covers and slipped his pants off as well. "There."

"Yes, that's better," Sherlock said, moving his hand to rest on John's cock. "There, see? A soft night . . . this is soft." He was smiling as he gently moved a fingertip across the soft skin.

"Not if you keep that up," John said quietly. 

"Are you going to ruin our soft evening by introducing something . . . hard?" he teased as he continued to touch John gently.

"I can't help it," John murmured. "I'm lying next to such a sexy man..."

"Who's that then," Sherlock said, leaning over John, looking. "Did you sneak someone else in here with you?"

"Very funny," John chuckled, turning his head as Sherlock was leaning over him to kiss his jaw and neck, sucking gently. 

"That's nice and soft," Sherlock said, tipping his head a little. He put his arms around John's back and stroked it. He tangled their legs. He felt relaxed -- the tension in his body was finally gone and he finally felt he could rest.

"Fits the theme," John murmured, nipping and kissing new spots, closer to his shoulder. 

"You take good care of me, John," Sherlock said, "in lots of way. I do appreciate it." He moved back just a little to give John more access. 

John followed and continued to press small kisses on his shoulders, upper chest, collarbones, and up the other side of his neck. "I love you," he whispered into Sherlock's skin.  

"I will never not want you to tell me that. As long as it's true, you can tell me that each day for the rest of our lives, John," Sherlock said softly. "I love you, too."

"I will love you forever," John said, coming up to kiss his mouth. Long, but soft.

Sherlock let John kiss him. Then he whispered, "Don't say it like that. Just say for today. I don't want to get lost worrying about forever. So just say you love me today. And maybe tomorrow, you can throw in tomorrow as well," he said before giving John another kiss.

"Okay," John murmured between kisses. "I love you until tomorrow."

"I love you until tomorrow, too, John," Sherlock said. He pulled away and reached over to turn off the lamp. He snuggled back into John and kissed his neck and sucked at the skin.

John hummed softly. "And the day after that," he added quickly, smiling and wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 

"We'll see," Sherlock said, smiling. "I might go off you by then." He sank into John and put small kisses on his chest.

John smiled and petted his hair, enjoying the kisses.

Sherlock traced the muscles on John's back lightly with his fingertips. He kept kissing John's chest and neck, moving his tongue across his skin. "You're pretty," he said.

John smiled at the word he used. Pretty. He smiled wider. "You're pretty," he said.

"Why thank you, Betty," Sherlock said grinning. Then he sat up. "I have an idea. Hand me the scarf and then lie on your back."

John chuckled before reaching into the bag for the scarf, settling back down on his back. "What's this idea?"

"Don't worry, it's soft," Sherlock leaned over John and dangled the scarf over John's feet. Then he dragged it slowly up one of John's legs, holding it up to let just the corner of the scarf slip across John's skin. "Does it tickle too much or is it nice?" 

"It's nice," John said. While he was ticklish on the flats of his feet the scarf was too light to do anything. "Gives me chills," he smiled.

Sherlock dragged it back down John's other leg before lifting it to John's belly and chest and swirling it around and then moved it down each of John's arms. He leaned over and kissed John on the belly, and then lay down and curled his leg over John.

John's stomach twitched lightly under the kiss but he smiled wide, and when Sherlock lay down again John pulled him close. 

Sherlock lifted one of his hands to John's chest, feeling his heartbeat. He thought about how easily it pulsed, pushing blood to John's body. He thought about how his own heart had ached earlier, how it had raced with panic. He hadn't wanted that, didn't want that again. He put his mouth on John's neck and kissed.

John covered Sherlock's hand and laced their fingers together, sighing happily as Sherlock kissed his neck. "You know all my spots," he mumbled.

"I think I discovered spots you didn't know you had," Sherlock said, smiling sheepishly.

"Yes," John agreed, remembering where his mouth had been last night. "That's very true."

"Do you think you know my spots, John?" Sherlock asked, his voice changing just slightly.

"Maybe. We can do an experiment," he smiled.

"Will you be wearing your headscarf during this experiment or a labcoat with nothing underneath?" Sherlock said, laughing a little at himself and the image.

"Doctor kink, huh?" John chuckled. "The latter, if that's what you'd like. I'll even do it at the office if you want to be official about it."

"Oh, is that your name? I thought it was Betty Mae. Okay, then, Dr Kink, I will not be a part of any experiment of yours that takes place at your office," Sherlock said, grinning and pinching John's waist. "Pervert," he muttered under his breath.

"You're the pervert," John grinned. "And how about Dr Sexy, and you can be my nurse? Nurse . . . Sexy?"

"Is this your thing then, role playing?" Sherlock asked laughing. "Everytime I tie your hands, the next day we've got to play doctor and nurse to balance things out? I did not know this about you, John. I may need to have a rethink here."

"No! Well, I suppose you can call it that. I like games," he shrugged.

Sherlock snuggled down. "Tell me what you mean then. Give me some examples so I know what I'm getting into."

"You know, things like walking around the flat naked and seeing how long we can keep our hands to ourselves, or playing strip 20 questions."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Should I be taking notes here?" He laughed. "Well, we already know you can go quite a while without putting your hands on me when I'm naked. I went to the palace with no clothes and you didn't make a single move."

"First of all, that was in front of everyone," John said. "Second of all, I didn't know I could."

"Did you think of it, though?" Sherlock asked. "Be honest. If you want to be, I mean. You don't have to say."

"Of course I did," John said. "Remember me leaning to look better? Asking if you had pants on? I almost fell over when you said you'd just walk away," he smiled.

Sherlock smiled, remembering that day. "Should we play a game now?" he said. "A soft game, not one of your perverted ones."

John couldn't help laughing at that word again. "All right smart guy, you pick a game then," he said.

"Okay, it's called Hot or Cold. We take turns coming up with scenarios and then each rate whether we find it hot or . . . not hot. For example, your bringing me tea every morning -- I would find that hot. And obviously you must find that cold, otherwise you would have done it this morning. What do you think, should we play a few rounds?"

"I always forget the tea," John sighed dramatically. "Yes, let's play that. Since you came up with one, it's my turn. Let's see . . . you showing up to my office in just your coat. I would find that hot."

"Jesus Christ, John!" Sherlock said, kind of shocked. "I don't know if we should play this," he teased, "you're scaring me." He thought for a minute. "I don't know if I could do it, I'm sorry. It's hot that you'd want me to, but I really don't know. Picture this: I'm standing at the reception desk with my coat, bare legs but I have my shoes on. Seriously? That's hot to you?" he laughed and pinched John's arm.

John couldn't help laughing. "Your coat is long enough! Okay . . . maybe you could have trousers on? Never mind," he sighed. "How about . . . cooking naked? I just don't want you wearing clothes ever," he laughed.

"First of all, when was the last time you saw me cook? I'm thinking you're just abusing this game to get me to do chores around the house. Secondly, cooking while naked? Sounds very dangerous. Do all of your scenarios involve me getting arrested or harmed?" he laughed and made a little snort, which made him laugh even more.

"No!" John laughed. "I told you, I just want you to be naked. I've ruined the game with my needs. Sorry," he added.

"Needs? John, you're saying these are things you _need_? And what happens if your needs are denied?" Sherlock was smiling. "Can I just remind you of something -- I am naked right now."

"I know, and it's fantastic. It should be normal. We'll start locking the door and just being naked all the time," he grinned.

"Life never works like that, John. All right, let's move past the naked-in-inappropriate-situations scenarios. It's my turn. You in the pink handcuffs on this bed and me finding ways to use an entire bottle of the new lube in one night?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Hot."

"Okay, okay," John said, trying to play properly. "Crawling under the table and giving you a blow job while you're trying to do an experiment. Hot."

"And when you surprise me and I spill a chemical which burns your skin, would it still be hot, John? Do you seriously enjoy causing pain or are you just not thinking out these scenarios very carefully? I think we're going to have to start keeping bandages and painkillers in the bedside cabinet."

John sighed dramatically. "It's a game! Stop being so logical. Maybe I drop my fork at Angelo's and give you a blow job there. Would I ever really do that? No. But it's hot to think about, right? It's thrilling and risky, completely inappropriate, but that's why it's fun."  
  
"First of all, John," Sherlock said, moving to crawl on top of him. "Stop being so logical? You are telling Sherlock Holmes to stop being logical? I am almost always logical, even my meltdowns have a strange logic to them, so what on earth would make you think I'd approach sex any differently?" He lowered just his hips to press against John's body. Then he put his mouth against John's and kissed him, before lifting his head again. "Now I know that you find thinking about completely inappropriate things fun, I may find myself using this to my advantage at some point." He kissed John again.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" John asked. He sat up quickly and flipped them so that he was straddling Sherlock instead, grinning down at him and rolling his hips just once.

"It'll be a surprise. I'm good with surprises, aren't I?" Sherlock reached for the scarf and flipped it to hit John's face. "Don't do that with your hips again or the plan for softness may go out the window," he said, smiling.

John grinned and rolled his hips again, slower and more deliberate than before. He did say he liked games.

"You're cruel," Sherlock said, his own hips lifting to meet John's, "you're ruining everything." He slid his hand down to hold John's cock. "Make it hard for me," he said.

"No more soft night?" John asked quietly, innocently even as he rolled his hips into Sherlock's hand over and over. Slowly, he felt himself getting harder.

"Well, there's varying degrees of softness. Should we just say softer than last night?" Sherlock asked. He closed his hand a little more as John bucked into it.

John nodded, heat flooding to his groin, making him even harder. He thrust into Sherlock's hand, exaggerating the backwards motion to feel Sherlock's cock on his arse. "That sounds good," he breathed.

Sherlock lifted his head to kiss John's mouth. It was a long kiss, a needful one. "Let's fuck softly, John," he said tenderly as he pulled away. "Tell me how you want us to do it." Sherlock wanted John to decide; he wanted to do whatever John wanted, needed. 

"Do you want me to stay on top?" John asked softly. "I want you inside, but slow." He wondered if he himself could stay slow but he would try. It sounded sexy. 

"If you want to stay on top, I find that very agreeable," Sherlock said, smiling. "Lean over and get me a bottle from the bag, the other one's still in your bedroom." He kept his hand loose on John's cock. He was hard now and aching for John.

John leaned over, having to get off a bit to reach the bag, and handed Sherlock the lube. "What flavour is that?" He asked, settling himself close to Sherlock's cock again, rutting softly in eagerness.

"I don't know -- pink? Open it and pour some in my hand," he said. Once John had, he said, "Lean down and kiss me," as he slipped his hand to John's cock, stroking it a few times, and then between John's legs, slicking everything.

"God, John, I want you so much," he moaned softly. Sherlock dragged his fingertips over John's hole and very gently pushed one inside. "Is that okay? Are you too sore? Tell me if anything hurts, if your legs hurt . . ." He was already pushing his finger in further.

"'I'm fine," John murmured, arching as Sherlock's finger went into him. If anything this not taking a night off business was keeping him loose enough to do this faster. He was already craving a second finger, a third -- Sherlock's cock if that's what he wanted in next. But it was a soft fuck so he would be patient.

"Scoot up a little bit. Touch yourself as you're kissing me," Sherlock's voice was getting breathy as he was slowly pumping his finger into John. He pulled it out and pushed two in, returning to the same rhythm. "I love being inside, John," he whispered.

Sherlock moved his mouth from John's and just pressed his face against John's cheek. His breath was already speeding up and he let his exhales blow against John's ear. John was rocking his hips against his hand. Sherlock worked his fingers steadily but slowly, stretching John, stretching him open for Sherlock. "If you're going to be on top, you're going to have to do most of the work. We don't have to do it for as long as last night or you can lie down if your legs get too tired." Sherlock was already ready, but he was trying to distract himself a little longer until John gave him a sign to start.

"I know," John nodded, keeping the speed off his hand slow like Sherlock's. "I'll go as long as I can," he huffed. He pushed into Sherlock's hand, leaned down to kiss him again, and rubbed his cock against Sherlock's stomach. "I love when I feel you here," he murmured, bringing Sherlock's free hand to his belly. "Deep. Mine."

"Can I now?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, scooting back and lining up with Sherlock's cock. He reached back to hold it and slowly sank down on it. He lifted onto his knees and sank down again, starting a slow rhythm. 

God, it felt good, the slowness made John feel even tighter around Sherlock. The urge that spread through his body was like an ache, but a delicious one. He moaned John's name as he watched him move, watched his face respond to Sherlock's being inside of him. He moved his hand to John's cock and stroked it in the same rhythm as John's movement.

John took deep breaths to control himself, feeling every inch as he moved up and down slowly.

Sherlock closed his eyes. There was something beautiful about John being the one moving, it felt different but so good. Sherlock kept his hand steady on John's cock, the lube mixing with precome to keep the movement smooth. He lifted his other hand to John's belly. His eyes were still closed as he tipped his head back slightly, letting it sink into the pillow. He moaned John's name softly, over and over. 

John was whispering Sherlock's name, trying to ignore his hand and focus on the movement. It was incredible -- slow and deliberate.

"Squeeze your muscles, if you can, try to hold onto me as you lift up," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes closed and his hand still as he concentrated only on the feeling of John's movement on his cock.

John did as Sherlock asked, shuddering out a breath. It felt even better, holding him in like that. "Sherlock . . . Christ," he moaned, moving a bit faster in his eagerness to try it again. After a few times he leaned forward, his hand gripping the bed by Sherlock's shoulder. He moved back and forth now instead of up and down, fucking Sherlock's hand at the same time. 

It was almost becoming too much for Sherlock as he lifted his hips to meet John. The muscles in his stomach burned and his cock was aching. When John leaned forward, the feeling was different but still intense. He gripped John's cock and lifted his other hand to John's shoulder. "John, it's . . . you feel so fucking good," he panted.

John nodded. "You . . . that movement . . . it's good, so good," he panted. "Can we go faster now?"

Sherlock said, "Yeah, but I don't know how much longer I can." He began moving his hand a bit faster and harder on John's cock, as he pushed his feet against the bed to respond to John's body's movement.

John pushed down against Sherlock, properly bouncing on top of him. He moaned loudly, finding Sherlock's mouth and kissing him hard, a bit sloppily.

Sherlock kissed John but then pushed him back up. "I want to make you come," he almost growled, pumping John's cock faster. He tried to focus on that, despite the ache in his own cock, growing stronger every time John came down against him.

This time John leaned back. Despite the glorious new angle, he focused on Sherlock's hand, gripping hard. "Fuck," he moaned suddenly, breathing Sherlock's name over and over as he came all over Sherlock's stomach. His fingers dug into Sherlock's thighs, his hips bucking wildly.

Sherlock slipped his hands to John's thighs, gripping tightly. He let his hips go now and thrust up into John. It only took twice before Sherlock came into John, his hips almost lifting completely off the bed. His legs froze, for a second it felt like his whole body was frozen. And then he could move and he pulled John down against him, both panting and sweating, and he squeezed his arms around him.

John moaned breathlessly at the two hard thrusts and then fell onto Sherlock. He panted heavily, closing his eyes and holding Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock shifted his body a little so John was lying by his side. He slid out of him and reached over to grab his shirt. He wiped their bellies and cleaned them up. "You did all the work there," Sherlock said. "Are you okay? It felt incredible."

John nodded. "Good . . . workout," he chuckled breathlessly.

Sherlock slid a hand down John's back across his arse and pulled his leg around him, curling John. "Let me baby you," Sherlock said. He stroked John's hair with his other hand and kissed his cheek softly.

"Okay," John agreed. "I won't complain."

"Do you need anything? You've not eaten dinner. Do you need a drink? What do you need?" Sherlock asked. "Let me fuss you."

John shook his head. "I don't need anything. Just this. I like this, right now."

"Okay, but tell me if you change your mind, I want to do for you for the rest of the night," he said softly. He trailed his fingertips on John's back, just barely touching the skin. "I need to take better care of your body, I think."

"You do so much good to it already," John smiled. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft touches, breathing in Sherlock's skin. "I'll be fit again in no time," he joked.

"I do a lot to it that I hope is good, but it's not always soft. Let me be soft to you for the rest of the night. Are we going to sleep now or what?" Sherlock said. He cuddled into John.

"That's okay. Not soft feels good too," John assured him. "Do you want to sleep? I'm a bit tired, but not so much sleepy yet. I won't mind if you do, though."

"No, I don't think I'm ready yet, this is good. Why? Are you in the mood to go clubbing or something?" Sherlock smiled and made a little pinch on John's upper arm before going back to stroking his skin. "Has all the sex released your inner teenager?" 

"No, I don't want to go clubbing," John laughed. "But I'm not going to deny all of this is making me feel younger. It's fantastic. You're very good for me," he grinned.

Sherlock blushed a little. "I guess earlier proves this has made me act younger but sadly more like a ten year old child." He kissed John's cheek. "I wish all that hadn't happened, John."

"I know," John said quietly. "But it's okay. And it will be okay the next time, too," he said. "You'll talk to me next time, okay?"

"I'll try, I just wish there weren't going to be another time," Sherlock said. "Do you want to take a bath?"

"Oh," John said, sitting up in excitement. "Yes, I would."

"Good, but can I baby you? Wash you, wash your hair and put lotion on you when you get out?" Sherlock said.

John nodded. "I'd like to sit in the warm water for a bit," he added, getting up and pulling Sherlock to his feet. 

"Okay, I'll start the bath. You go get your pajamas -- can we sleep in my room tonight?" Sherlock said, heading to the bathroom.

"Yeah," John nodded, heading up to his room for his pajamas. He came back down and left them on the end of Sherlock's bed then headed to the bathroom. 


	15. Sherlock Turns Soft Into Silly

Sherlock was leaning over the bath. "I made it hot, but I hope it's not too hot," he said, swirling his hand in the water. "Get in then, naked doctor."

John bit his lip at the heat but it felt so good that he climbed in anyways, ignoring the pain and imagining the wonders it would do for his muscles. "Aren't you getting in?"

"Do you want me to? Do you think there's enough room for me to get in behind you? I want you to be comfortable."

"I think leaning against you will be much more comfortable than the cold tub," John smiled, scooting forward a bit. 

Sherlock stepped into the tub behind John. He slid he legs around John and pulled him to lean against him. "The heat feels good," Sherlock said. "I'll wash you in a minute."

"Whenever," John sighed, settling back against Sherlock. "This was an excellent idea, Sherlock."

"It's soft, isn't it?" Sherlock said with a quiet voice. He rubbed his hands up John's thighs, massaging them. "Remember how we lived together for a long time but never took a bath together? Why is this the first time we've done this?"

"Because we're idiots," John sighed. '"Don't stop that, okay? Just for a bit," he said, humming as Sherlock kneaded his muscles. 

"Babies aren't supposed to be so bossy," Sherlock said under his breath. He kept massaging John's legs. "Perhaps we should try something different tomorrow. I mean, I love that but it makes your legs work so much, I feel guilty. And I don't want you getting He-Man thighs -- I think I would find that off putting." He gave John a soft kiss near his ear.

John couldn't help laughing. "He-Man thighs?" He laughed harder and lifted his head to kiss Sherlock's jaw. "Sorry. Yes, we can try something else tomorrow." He was still grinning.  

"Give us the soap then," Sherlock said, sitting up just a bit. He ran the bar of soap over John's arms and shoulders and then rubbed the soap in his hands before spreading them over John's back, rubbing more so than actually washing. "I love your body," he said softly and leaned in and kissed John's shoulder, getting soap on his mouth. He grimaced a bit and dropped a hand into the water and the across his lips. "It's all fine now," he said, going back to washing John, rubbing the soap on John's chest and belly.

"I love you," John sighed. "Your hands, especially." John looked down at his slender fingers moving over his skin and it felt good. Not just sexually arousing, but all around good because those hands could touch anyone Sherlock wanted and they chose to touch him. 

Sherlock slid his hands into John's and squeezed them under the water. "I love you, too," he said softly. Because he did.

John laced their fingers so he couldn't pull them away just yet. He wanted to rest against Sherlock until the water got cold, and then he wanted to curl into Sherlock when they went to bed. 

Sherlock leaned against the back of the bath and held John to him. This was nice, soft. He stretched his legs a little and curled his lower back: his muscles were a bit sore as well. He closed his eyes and thought about them lying in his warm bed. John made everything seem safe.

"You're okay on the tub?" John asked, comfortable against Sherlock and hoping he was too.

"Until it starts to get cold, I'm very comfortable," Sherlock said, his voice a bit sleepy. "It's relaxing now. Should we have had bubbles? Pink ones?" he squeezed John's hands again. This was about the most perfect moment.

John smiled. "I'm starting to think you're obsessed. I'm going to buy you pink pants, I think."

Sherlock laughed. "It's the softness I'm obsessed with. I like that we can have both kinds of nights together." He nuzzled his nose into the back of John's wet hair.

"Maybe they will have lace. That's soft," John chuckled. 

"No, John, no lace, I'm neither virginal nor whorish and those are the only two groups who wear lace," he teased. "Pink is fine, though don't bother getting me pants. I rarely wear them. You can help yourself, though, if you fancy it." He moved their hands in the water.

"I'm not wearing pink pants," John laughed. "And don't tell me you never wear pants because you're making me think naughty things and you're going to yell at me again," he joked. 

"Fine, just pretend I'm always wearing them. Pretend I'm wearing them right now," he lifted his hips a little to press against John. "See, feel them? They're all lacy, just like you like." He smiled to himself.

"Are not," John protested, wiggling against him.

"You are correct, I am completely naked as are you, John," Sherlock said. He let go of John's hands and smoothed his over John's thighs in the water and then lifted them to his chest and then down his arms to hold each of John's hands separately. "I like your body when it's not got clothes on it."

"That's what I said before and you yelled at me," John pouted playfully. 

"I have never yelled at you," Sherlock said, dropping his hands into the water to splash John. "Don't pick a fight or I won't massage you once we get into bed."

"Another massage? I'm a lucky boy," John smiled. 

"Yes, a lucky baby. I want to baby you, remember? I don't want your body to hurt as much tomorrow. Do you have to go into work?" he swallowed. Whatever the answer was, it would be okay.

"I do," John nodded. "But because I stayed late I only have to stay for a half day."

"That's okay," Sherlock said, "Why don't we get a takeaway tomorrow night? That way if you do have to stay late, it won't mess up any plans." 

"Okay," John agreed. "But I am not staying late tomorrow," he assured Sherlock. 

"I'm just saying, even if you do, it will all be all right," Sherlock said, sliding his arms around John's chest. "I think I'm ready to get out now. You?"

"Yes," John nodded. "I am thinking about the massage," he grinned. 

Sherlock stood up and reached for the towels. He gave one to John and he dried himself off. He walked quickly into his bedroom and slipped into the bed. "Here, get in," he said to John, "get warmed up first."

"Should I put my pajamas on?" John asked, drying off and standing at the end of the bed. 

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," Sherlock said, smiling. "However, I think I will put mine on." He slipped back out of bed and put his pajamas on before getting back in bed.

John smiled and crawled into bed, getting under the covers on his belly and watching Sherlock get dressed. 

Sherlock slid around John, cuddling him to warm him up. "Mmm, the bed feels good, soft," Sherlock said, snuggled into John's arm.

John nodded. "You feel good," he sighed. "Very warm."

Sherlock rubbed his arms up and down John. "Are you warmed up a bit? When you're warm enough, roll on your belly. I'll keep the covers over you at first." 

"What if I lie about being warm so I can stay curled up like this?" John smiled. 

"We can stay like this as long as you want, numpty," Sherlock said. He moved his hands over John's body, softly rubbing his skin.

"I want too many things," John sighed. 

Sherlock tipped his head and looked at the clock. "It's not too late just yet. We have time for all of them. So what do you want first?" he asked, snuggling back into John.

"This," John said. "Cuddling with you like this, curled up in your arms."

Sherlock snuggled a bit tighter into John. He pecked a few soft kisses on his cheek and then his neck and squeezed his arms around him.

John tucked his head into Sherlock's chest and wrapped an arm around his middle. He almost brought his knees up but then realised it would push him away a bit, so instead he tangled his legs into Sherlock's.

"If the world ended right now, this is how I would like to die," Sherlock said.

"Don't say that," John said, curling impossibly closer. "I don't want it to end."

Sherlock smiled, cupping John's face. "Me neither. I meant it in a nice way, but I'm not always good at saying the nice things I mean." He leaned in and kissed John's mouth, a long and soft kiss.

"I know what you meant," John said quietly. "I just wasn't ready to hear about death," he smiled.

"Fine, we won't die yet," Sherlock said. He kissed John again. "Do you still want to cuddle or do you want me to rub you or something else?"

"You can massage me now," John nodded. He turned onto his belly but faced Sherlock. 

Sherlock lifted up and straddled John, resting himself lightly on John's bum. He started by just dragging his fingertips up and down John's back before increasing the pressure. Then he lifted his hands to John's shoulders and massaged then large muscles, going deep but using his palms for the most pressure. "We should get some oil so this would be nicer," he said quietly.

"Mmm, something warm . . ." John agreed.

"And smells nice but not too much or I'd have to kick you out of bed after," Sherlock said. He moved now to the top of John's arms, working the biceps, before moving to the shoulder blades. "You're so strong, really," he said quietly.

John smiled into the mattress. "I thought I'd lose it after the war but you keep me active enough," he said.

"Running around London is one way. Now, who knows, you'll be able to carry me so I don't have to run as well," Sherlock said. He moved his hands to John's lower back, sliding his hands away from John's spine. He massaged this area for a while and then turned around on John's body so he could start massaging his thighs.

John smiled. "I'm not carrying you anywhere. Except the bedroom maybe. I'm a pervert, not a horse," he laughed. He felt his muscles relaxing under Sherlock's hands. He really loved those hands. 

Sherlock leaned forward a little and rubbed John's thighs. He dug a bit deeper on John's legs, but still tried to be gentle. Eventually he shifted over and lay back down next to John."Was that okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "Just what the doctor ordered," he smiled. "Want me to do you?"

"I do, if you want to," Sherlock said, slipping of his shirt and rolling onto his belly.

"After all of this lovely treatment? Of course I do," John smiled, sitting up and straddling Sherlock. He rubbed his muscles, kneading softly as he worked his way down. 

"Mmmm, that feels good," Sherlock said. He tried to sink into the bed. "Is this going to end with you bouncing on me?" he teased.

John shook his head. "And then you say I am the pervert," he teased. "Are you feeling horny again?"

"Shhh, stop trying to distract me, you're supposed to be relaxing me," Sherlock said.

"You're the one that started it!" John said. 

"I was just remembering," Sherlock said softly. "Do my lower back, it's sore from your bouncing around on me." He smiled. 

John rolled his eyes but complied, kneading the muscles there with the palms of his hands. 

"Have you thought of other sex things you want to try?" Sherlock said, adding, "Don't stop rubbing -- I'm just trying to start a conversation while you massage me."

"Hm . . . seems like the only thing we haven't done is me topping you," John said. "How would you feel about that?" 

"Is that something you want to do?" Sherlock said, which was not the same as answering the question.

John shrugged. "I suppose I would like to try the other side of things." 

"Perhaps at some point," Sherlock said without saying more. "Does this mean you're bored of what we've been doing?" For a second, Sherlock worried that John was.

"No. I'm trying to think of something else we could do but my mind is a bit slow at the moment. We could . . . use toys," he suggested. 

"Do you have some?" Sherlock was curious now.

"No I don't," John said. "But I have looked them up before. I saw a video once of someone using a vibrator against their prostate and it looked very intense."

"Why were you looking that up? Is that what you do while you're 'working' on your laptop?" Sherlock asked.

"No! I looked it up a while ago," John said. "It started with porn and then, I don't know, curiosity made me branch off."

"I see," Sherlock said. "Fine, Mr Sexpert, why don't you come with me to that shop and we can buy whatever takes your fancy?"

John flushed lightly and nodded, forgetting Sherlock couldn't see him. "Did you see anything there that you liked? That you left behind?"

"I wasn't browsing, I admit," Sherlock said. "Not that I'm not open minded, I just knew what I was looking for. I'm sure the shop assistant could offer us some advice," he wiggled a bit. "Do my legs now."

John flushed darker at having to consult another person, and even more so when he wondered if the shop owner would remember Sherlock and know John was the one the other things were used on. "I think we can figure it out," he said. He slid to sit over Sherlock's calves and rubbed his thighs. 

"I'll trust your judgment," Sherlock said. "Why don't you lie down flat on me for a minute? You know, just so I can see what it's like?"

John crawled up and bit and gently lay on top of Sherlock. He lifted his head a bit so his mouth was closer to Sherlock's ear. "I saw this toy, two balls with a string on the end, you push them in and just wear them all day, like a naughty secret," he murmured. 

"So you'd like the two of us to be going out on cases with balls up our backsides?" Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "Some of them have little weights inside for stimulation," he said. 

"I'm not against the concept," Sherlock said, "but I'm not sure about all these shenanigans happening at crime scenes. Is that one of your things -- wanting to do sex stuff in public?"

"Not where we could get caught," John said. "But maybe places we weren't supposed to -- it's a bit thrilling," he smiled. He rubbed Sherlock arms lightly as he relaxed on top of him, hoping he wasn't crushing the man.  

"Move your hips a little," Sherlock said, "so I can see what it might be like if you were going to do it to me."

John, who was still naked, started to slowly and gently roll his hips against Sherlock. 

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked. "Do you want to do it properly to me . . . at some point?"

"Yeah, I think I would," John nodded. "Do you?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock said, shifting a little to move out from under John and lie beside him. "Okay, so tomorrow we're getting some sex toys and I'll stick them up your bottom and run around town and then we'll see about the other. What are we going to do now?"

"Don't say it like that!" John swatted his arm. His stomach flipped nervously. "Now we sleep, I suppose. Unless you're still horny," he smiled. 

"When did I say I was horny? I think you're projecting, quite frankly," he said smiling.

"When I was giving you your massage!" John grinned. "Don't put this on me!"

"Your memory is horrible, Doctor Watson. All I did was ask if your massage was going to end with some bouncing. I did not say I was horny. That does not mean I'm not, of course, I'm just saying pay attention to my actual words, please," Sherlock leaned over and blew a raspberry on John's chest.

John laughed loudly. "You know perfectly well what you meant and so do I!"

"Well, come on then, let's get down to business," Sherlock said, cracking his knuckles.

"Such a romantic!" John teased. "I'm positively swooning."

"Beggars cannot be choosers, John. Get on and start bouncing, please," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly.

"I will not!" John grinned. 

"Come on, now, John, don't play hard to get," Sherlock slid his hand down into his pajama bottoms and started to stroke himself. "Someone needs to bounce on this, it might as well be you." He was making a goofy face.

"Nope. I'm just going to watch you take care of yourself, and when you're all done, I'll take care of myself," he teased. He crossed his arms in mock seriousness. 

"That's no fun," Sherlock said. "I've been having sex with myself everyday since you've been living here -- now that we've done it together, I have to say I prefer having you involved."

"Well, maybe you should have made me want it more," he grinned. 

"If you're not interested, you're not interested," Sherlock said, rolling over. "I'm not about to trick you into it. I'd like to maintain a little sense of dignity, you know." Sherlock turned his head to try to look at John. "I suppose you're off to your laptop to look at eggs up people's bottoms now, are you?"

"No, I am going to get off right here. And you're one to talk about dignity -- asking me to bounce around so casually!"

"Oh, I see, that's the issue, the fact that I was too casual. Okay fine, I'll be more formal. Doctor Watson, Sherlock Holmes requests your presence to bounce around on his cock at two minutes from now, in his bed at 221B Baker Street," Sherlock said, turning back over towards John. "Are you going to RSVP?"

"I don't even know what to say to you right now!" John laughed. "Is there nothing else we can do?"

"Well, I do have another idea but I'm not sure I've got time to get the invitation properly printed and now I'm too nervous to say anything else for fear of being accused of being too casual about it," Sherlock said, sliding himself a little bit down the bed and lightly kissing John's belly.

"I can excuse the informality, just this once," John smiled, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. "What are you thinking?"

"Let's go back to our soft evening," Sherlock said as he covered John's belly with kisses. He wiggled down a bit lower and put kisses all over John's cock and lightly licked it. "Let me give this some attention for a while," Sherlock said, flicking his tongue against John's tip. Then he put his lips around it and sucked softly, swirling his tongue, before he pushed it in further.

"Oh," John moaned softly, biting his lip as he felt Sherlock's warm mouth around him. 

Sherlock lifted one hand to hold John's cock at the base and went back to licking, all the way up, over the tip and back down the other side. He made it all wet and then slid it back in his mouth, starting a rhythm and he pressed his face closer to John's body. He slipped his other hand between John's legs and squeezed John's arse.

"Sherlock," John moaned softly. Then he had an idea. "Crawl up -- turn yourself so I can suck you too..."

Sherlock moved around on the bed, slipping off his pajama bottoms, and moving his head down under the covers. He stuck his feet under the pillow because they were cold, before slipping John back into his mouth.

John shuffled a bit and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing slowly and swirling around the tip. It was odd to feel himself in Sherlock's mouth and yet have his own mouth full.

Sherlock's breath stopped for a moment when John's mouth was on him. He imagined what they looked like from above and realised that this was another first for John. And it was with Sherlock and he liked that idea. He went back to sucking gently on John.

John hummed softly, bringing his hand up to stroke as he sucked Sherlock. He looked down for a moment before closing his eyes, focusing on all of the different things he was feeling.

This was a connection. Sherlock and John were connected. Sherlock reached one arm to John's leg to rub his calf as he continued to kiss and suck John's cock softly.

John hummed and held Sherlock's thigh, rubbing lightly as he sucked to match Sherlock.

"John," Sherlock said, lifting the covers a bit so he could be heard. "I don't want to stop yet but I don't want us to come like this. Is that okay? Can we just do this for a little bit longer? Tell me to stop if it gets to be too much." He let the covers fall and turned his attention back to John's cock. The skin was soft and wet against his soft, wet lips. 

John nodded around his cock, bobbing a bit faster. He wondered what Sherlock had in store for them next. After a few minutes he felt heat flooding his belly. He pulled off and tapped Sherlock's thigh.

At John's touch, Sherlock moved away and then turned himself around on the bed to face John. He moved quickly to his neck, kissing and sucking on the skin. He moved John's hand to his own cock and put his hand on John's stroking. "With hands," he mumbled into John's skin. His grip on John was at first slow and deliberate but then began to quicken as Sherlock moved his hips gently.

"Perfect," John breathed, stroking to match Sherlock's pace. It was wonderful, their breath mixing in heavy pants between them.

Sherlock slipped his other hand around John's shoulder, pulling the tops of their bodies closer. Their hands occasionally bumped, but Sherlock didn't care. He tried to kiss John and then squeezed his face against John's cheek, his mouth by John's ear, panting. "John," Sherlock exhaled, "This feels good."

John nodded. "I'm close, Sherlock." He put his eagerness into his stroke as if it were on him, moving his hand faster and sweeping over the tip.

Sherlock let his hips go and he pushed against John's hand. His own hand tightened slightly and sped up, deliberately moving on John's cock. "I want to kiss you as you come," he huffed as he moved his mouth back to John's, trying to connect.

John pushed up and slammed his mouth against Sherlock's, kissing sloppy and hard. He groaned and came into Sherlock's hand, his hips bucking wildly.

John's grip tightened and as his body shook, Sherlock came into John's hand, with one long thrust against John's jerking. His collapsed to John's shoulder as he panted. His hand and belly were covered with come from both of them.

John panted softly, kissing Sherlock's temple and hair as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh, love," he whispered, holding him tightly.

Sherlock dragged his hand on the sheet and then slid his arms around John, pulling him closer. He felt . . . good, definitely good, but a little needy, maybe, he couldn't put the right word on it. He just wanted John's body as close to his as it could be.

"I love you, so much," John murmured, pressing against Sherlock. He wrapped his arm around tighter and laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, simply holding. "So much."

Sherlock buried his head against John. "I love you, John," he said softly. He was still trying to catch his breath. Eventually he pulled his head back a little and kissed John on the nose. Then he dropped his head onto the pillow. "I am properly exhausted now," he said. This evening has started with his meltdown which had taken so much out of Sherlock, but he didn't say that because he didn't want either of them to think of that now. So instead he said, "I liked our soft evening, though. It was good." He smiled.

John nodded. "It was great," he said. Sherlock seemed much better now, and the troubles before felt like so long ago. He liked that -- that a bit of time together could make it almost like it never happened. He hoped one day he could reassure Sherlock enough to lessen the swings. He kissed Sherlock's head again. 

"I think I might need to sleep now, John," Sherlock leaned grabbed his t-shirt and cleaned up his hand and belly then slid his pajama bottoms back on. "We're messy again after our bath but I think I'm too tired to care at the moment." He threw his t -shirt on the floor and pulled the covers up over him.

"I know I am too tired to care," John said. He reached over and set his alarm for a half hour earlier so that he could shower before work. "Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow? We can come home together after," John said as he settled more comfortably.

"Yes, that'll be good," Sherlock said. He wanted to promise that he could make it through one day of John working without having to be looked after, but he didn't want to make a promise he couldn't keep and at this moment, he was just too tired to think about any of it. "Snuggle me, please, while I go to sleep," he said, reaching for John.

John pulled him close again and got comfortable around him. "If you're asleep I won't wake you okay? Just text me when you wake up."

"No," Sherlock said, shaking his head against John. "Just wake me up soft to let me know when you go, okay?" Sherlock didn't want to think but knew enough waking to an unexpectedly empty bed was not the way he wanted to start the day. "Give me a little kiss so I know you're going and then I'll go back to sleep, I promise."

"All right," John agreed. "After my shower, okay?"

"Whenever, just don't leave the flat before letting me know, okay?" Sherlock snuggled into him again. "Promise, John?"

"I promise, love," John murmured into his hair. John closed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Go to sleep, now."

Sherlock closed his eyes and his arms went a little slack around John who was warm and comforting enough for Sherlock to fall to sleep quickly.

John stayed awake for a bit longer, murmuring reassurances quietly. He hoped they would stick in Sherlock's mind, in his subconscious, and that he would feel better. Eventually, he dozed off and slept very soundly against Sherlock.


	16. The Shopping Trip

In the morning John groaned when his alarm went off. He was so tired, but he dragged himself out of bed. He just had to make it through the half day and then he'd have the weekend off. He clambered into the shower, taking a bit longer in his sleepy state, and he got dressed before he gently woke Sherlock up. It broke his heart as he looked so peaceful, but he knew Sherlock wanted it.

"I'm leaving," he murmured quietly when Sherlock stirred and blinked his eyes open. John had kept the light off.

"Mmm -- okay," Sherlock mumbled, keeping his eyes open long enough to look at John. "You look pretty in your work clothes," he said and then rolled over to go back to sleep. 

John rolled his eyes lightly and smiled, murmuring a quick ‘I love you’ before he left for work. The morning was slow -- he spent a lot of time being bored, checking his phone for messages from Sherlock.

When Sherlock woke up, he stretched. He didn't feel panicked and he was glad. He did think of John, but this was okay -- he was lying in the bed they had had sex in last night so it was totally appropriate to think of him. So far, so good. He reached over for his phone.

_Good morning. Were you trying to brainwash me last night? xx SH_

John grinned and answered at once, not having a patient at the moment.

_Maybe. But as you're not chicken dancing in my office naked I'm going to assume it didn't work. -JW_

Sherlock smiled at John's response.

_Thanks for saying nice things and for letting me know when you left. What time shall I meet you? SH_

_Eleven? I'm off at one today. -JW_

_Should I just come at one and we can lunch afterwards? SH_

Sherlock looked at the clock. It was almost ten. If he met John at eleven, he'd have to get a move on. He'd be happy to do that, of course. However, he did want to reassure himself and John that he could also survive John being at work for a half day without having a meltdown. He thought about the little restaurant near the shop he visited and wondered if John was still up for going in with him and buying themselves a treat.

_Okay, we can do that. Are we still going to that shop or was that just horny talking? -JW_

_I think we should. You must feel terribly distraught without any eggs hidden within your person. How you're able to function without them, I do not know. SH_

John laughed and shook his head. 

_Stop with the eggs! I don't want an egg up my arse. It would break and just make a mess. -JW_

_Thanks for that. You've put me off my breakfast. See you soon. SH_

Sherlock smiled at himself. He stretched again and made a move to get up. He decided to shower first but once he entered the bathroom, he decided to have another bath instead. His muscles were getting much more use and a nice hot soak felt good. Then he dressed himself and made himself a cup of tea. He flipped through the newspaper, sipping his tea, and enjoying the morning, knowing that soon he'd see John.

Eventually Sherlock went over to his desk and wrote up his notes for the case. He sent them through to Lestrade. He packed things back into the file and thought of Molly. He sent her a quick text thanking her for her help. He wondered if any of this with John would have happened without that date. He didn't share that in the text, but that was part of what he was grateful for as well. 

When it was time to leave, he took a cab to the surgery. He decided not to go in and just stood outside, waiting for John.

John saw a total of eight patients but was still glad to go home. He was thinking about the little shop and the sort of things they were going to find there. He wondered what Sherlock was going to like in there, what he would be leaning towards. Outside, he almost ran into him. "Hey! I was waiting for you upstairs," John said. 

Sherlock smiled at John. "You are still pretty," he said. "Let's go get something to eat." They walked to the little restaurant which turned out to a little greasy spoon. "Is this okay?" he asked John. "I might get a breakfast."

"It's fine," John smiled. "I can get a burger."

They placed their order and sat a table by the window. "There's the shop," Sherlock said pointing. "Fancy going in? Perhaps the tall, thin man won't be working today." 

John looked over at the shop and nodded. "Yeah, we can go in. I'm curious to see what you like in there," he grinned. "It's going to be a very interesting visit."

"What if a woman is working instead? How would you feel about that?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

John shrugged. "As long as it's not someone we know that will be all right. When will I ever see her again?"

"Well . . . what if she shows up in the surgery one day? She comes in with a little cough, opens the door and sees that her doctor is you, the egg-up-the-bottom guy -- you'd be comfortable with that?" Sherlock said, grinning.

"It's not a bloody egg!" John laughed. "I would be mortified, honestly, but I would remain professional and I'd pray she would leave immediately and find a new doctor." 

"Well, I suppose if she ever had an egg-related injury, you'd be the perfect doctor for it," Sherlock said. "John, have you forgotten you're speaking to a child? The more you tell me not to call it an egg, the more you guarantee I will. Just so you know. . ." Sherlock pushed his hand against John's and continued smiling as the server brought the drinks over. He thanked her and then went back to smiling at John. 

John rolled his eyes and took a sip of water. "Fine. Call it whatever you want. Just know that for every time you call it an egg, I take two minutes of play time away," he grinned.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" Sherlock said, suddenly serious.

John grinned. "Whatever time you think we're starting our fun, you have to wait . . ." John trailed off to do a fake mental count. "Eight minutes now?"

"Tell me what you mean right now," Sherlock asked, his stomach already starting to hurt. "Do you mean you'll play with someone else?"

"What?" John asked, and then he saw it in Sherlock's eyes. Panic. "No! Sherlock no, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I meant like . . . teasing, drawing out the start of our night. I didn't mean -- I'm sorry."

Sherlock swallowed. "Okay, I see what you mean. All right, fine, you can torture me for eight minutes," he paused, "I'm sorry, I just got confused. I thought you meant 'play away'." He smiled a bit and added, "Don't mention torture at the shop, though, I think it means something else there."

John sighed in relief, terrified of how close that had been. "We don't have to. It's just a stupid word. . ."

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said, leaning over and touching John's head. "I'm okay."

The food arrived and Sherlock tried to eat a little. "How was work this morning?" he asked.

"Very boring," John said, slowly starting on him meal. "I only saw about ten patients. Jones came early to make up for yesterday so it was very slow."

"I finished that case -- emailed Lestrade."

"Oh, good! Did he wonder why it took you so long? I've had you a bit distracted," he smiled. 

"He never thought I'd get anywhere so he was just pleased. Molly's file helped a lot," Sherlock said, topping up his tea and pushing his plate away from him.

"She was probably glad to hear that," John smiled. "Did Lestrade give you another one?"

"Nothing right now," Sherlock said. "Boring. Hopefully someone will be killed soon." Sherlock glanced up at John. "You know what I mean."

John grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But don't worry. I'll keep you busy until then."

"Maybe we should say no work this weekend. Just play," Sherlock said, smiling and raising his eyebrow. 

John grinned wider. "That sounds fantastic. It has been such a hard week," he said dramatically. 

"Finish up then," Sherlock said, motioning towards John's food. "I'm bored."

"Eight more minutes," John smiled. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, smiling. "You're mean."

John shrugged and took his time finishing his meal. Finally he wiped his mouth and nodded. "Let's go."

Sherlock left a few quid on the table for a tip and they headed out. They walked over to the shop. "Are we looking for something particular -- besides the egg obviously -- or are we just browsing?" Sherlock said, holding the door open for John. 

"Two minutes," John reminded as he walked into the shop. "Let's just browse and see what catches our eye, okay?"

They walked in. Sherlock led them first to a shelf with oils on it. "Let's get something here for massages. Pick one that smell nice," he started looking at the labels and sniffing some.

"This one?" John asked, holding out a lavender vanilla one. 

"Well, it's not pink, but it smells relaxing," Sherlock said. "Okay, we'll get that." He turned around to look at the shelves behind them. He laughed a little and said, "John, here are the eggs." He pointed.

"Four minutes," John said, waving four fingers in his face. He looked at the different plugs and flushed lightly. There were so many of them. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm . . ." Sherlock crinkled his nose a little. "At this point in time, I'm thinking I'm not sure if I'd like one of those in me. However, I am quite intrigued by the idea of using one with you." He glanced up at John. "I'm just being honest." 

John nodded. He looked back at the wall. Some of them looked a bit terrifying, but he picked up one that was smooth and shaped like a spade, almost. "This one?" 

Sherlock examined it. "So what are you thinking we'd do with this? Is this for bedtime or for while we're walking around London?" He smiled.

"I don't know how well I'd walk with that around with this," John said. "Maybe just around the flat?" He picked up another one that said on the box it could be worn all day. "Or do you want something like this?"

"No, the first one, I think," Sherlock said. "Right now, I'd prefer to be present when anything gets near your backside." He wandered to the next aisle.

John held the box and, after putting the other one back, he followed Sherlock into the next aisle. "Something caught your eye?"

"What about something that vibrates? It would give us a number of options, I think," Sherlock said.

"God, if that were pressed against the prostate," John bit his lip as he thought about that. It would be very intense. 

"I was thinking a shoulder massage, but yes, your idea sounds interesting," Sherlock said, laughing softly. "We've got nothing pink, John, I'm disappointed. Neither of these things are specifically for a soft night -- any ideas for that? Or should we just get some non-sex-shop candles to burn?"

"The massage oil is soft," John countered. "And a vibrator is also soft depending on how we use it. But candles sound very nice, too. The room will be soft," he smiled. 

"All right then," Sherlock said, "anything else? Be honest. I have been." He reached over and grabbed a couple bottles of lube. Then he looked over at John and said, "It's good to have some around the house, you know, in case it's necessary to conduct some business, say, in the living room or elsewhere . . ."

John grinned. "I'm not complaining. Now I picked this and the vibrator is for both of us so you pick. Either something for you or something you're dying to use on me -- I'm curious."

"All right then," Sherlock said, walking taking a few steps away and then coming back and handing a blindfold to John. "This."

"A blindfold?" John asked, looking up at him. "Isn't that why you bought the scarves?"

"The pink ones are for a soft evening, this will be for a less soft night."

"Oh. All right, then," John smiled. "Shall we get home, then?"

They walked up to the counter. The tall, thin man was working.

"Hello again," Sherlock said, placing the things on the counter along with his credit card.

The man looked at Sherlock and then John and then rang up the items. Within a few minutes, they were back on the street, Sherlock carrying the pink bag.

"He knows what we're going to do," John said, looking over at Sherlock, his mouth twitched up lightly. 

"I don't even know precisely what we're going to do, John," he said smiling as he continued to walk. "However, you are right -- he works in a sex shop, we've just purchased sex toys, you're right, he probably has his suspicions. Do you have a problem with that?"

John shook his head. "I was embarrassed, at the counter, but it's over now. There's no point to be, really," he shrugged. 

"No, there is no point," Sherlock said. "We can always order things online, if you prefer." He handed the bag to John to carry. They walked the rest of the way home. Sherlock unlocked the door and headed up to the flat. "Tea?" he said to John.

"No thanks," John said. "I am full from lunch. And we can do that next time," he added. 

"If you want. I kind of like the tall, thin man knowing you're mine," he said casually as he filled the kettle.

John smiled. "I think he knows now. You've been in twice." He moved into the kitchen and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder blades as he waited for the kettle. 

"You should have mentioned that you were a doctor, then he'd have been very impressed," Sherlock said, turning around to put his arms around John. He kissed his face.

John chuckled. "I think he knows enough about us already," he said. 

"You're still a mystery to me. I'm still learning new things about you," he kissed John's neck. "Until yesterday I didn't know you had this egg fetish." He pinched John's backside gently.

John squirmed in his arms. "Six minutes -- keep it up," he teased.

"This is abuse," Sherlock said, pulling away. "I'm starting to lose interest, I think."

"Oh? Then I will play with my new toys all by myself," John said, heading to the sitting room.

"You are a cruel man, Doctor John Watson," Sherlock took his cup of tea into the sitting room and sat down next to John.

"Your six minutes start after you've finished that," John smiled.

"Again, not fair. You said the minutes come in whenever I think the fun is about to begin. I presumed we would begin as soon as the tea was made. So that's when the six minutes should start. You must be fair with your punishments, John, or I will never learn."

"And you think me watching you drink tea is fun? I don't think so," John laughed.

Sherlock slipped open his belt and took a drink of tea. "You can get started on the fun while I'm finishing my tea," he said, motioning towards his lap.

John grinned. "Now the six minutes start."

"Whatever," Sherlock said, pouting. He took another sip of tea and slumped his feet up onto the coffee table. He hummed quietly to himself. "This is boring," he mumbled into the air.

"Five more minutes," John smiled. "What exactly do you want me to do while you're drinking your tea?"

Sherlock said nothing but just pointed down to his lap.

"Use your words, love," John told him like he was a child. "I'm not going to bounce on it in the middle of the sitting room."

Sherlock reached over to the bag and pulled out a bottle of lube. He threw it to John. "Put this in the drawer of that table," he said motioning behind John, "that way if you ever do feel like bouncing on it in the middle of the sitting room, we'll be prepared." He smiled and finished his tea. 

John rolled his eyes but did as Sherlock said, hiding it in the back of the drawer. When he was finished, instead of getting back on the sofa he knelt in front of Sherlock, pushing his legs open. "Now, what are we doing here?" 

Sherlock didn't look at John. Instead he said, "Surely five minutes haven't passed, have they? I'm trying to sit here like a good little boy so you won't keep being so mean to me." 

"I'm not doing anything, an I? Just sitting and thinking," John said, sitting back on his feet and just looking.

"Is the time up yet? I just want it to be normal, not more torture, I won't say . . . you know what anymore," Sherlock pouted. He lifted his hand and made an egg shape with his fingers.

John grinned. "The time can be over. It seems you've learned your lesson," he said. He toyed with the button on Sherlock's trousers, pulling at the zip. "Perhaps I can give you a reward."

"In the middle of the sitting room, in the middle of the day?" Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows and wiggling a bit.

"Fine," John shrugged. "I'll just sit up then, maybe take a nap."

"I have no problem with it," Sherlock said. "I'm just making sure you're all right about it." He threw a pillow at John. "You said no more teasing, you know."

"Sorry," John grinned. "I'm trying to make it up to you and you keep harassing me." John tugged his trousers down to mid-thigh, palming him through his pants. 

Sherlock stood up from the sofa and pulled his trousers back up. "You can make it up to me in the bedroom," he said, pointing towards his room. "Bring the bag." He led the way. 

"I was trying to be spontaneous," John said, sitting up and grabbing the bag.

Sherlock smiled as John came into the bedroom. "You've inspired me to also be spontaneous. You tried your little experiment to see if you could get me to stop saying a certain word, and your experiment has ultimately proved successful. Well done. Now I would like to conduct a little experiment. Let's take off each other’s clothes first," he said, trying to lift John's jumper over his head.

"And what experiment is that?" John asked, working at the buttons on Sherlock's shirt.


	17. The Experiment

"We're going to try the things we bought and see how we like them," Sherlock said, pulling John's trousers down.

"Oh. All right," John said, kicking his trousers aside. He pulled at Sherlock's trousers again, managing to finally get them off and tossing them aside as well.

Sherlock nipped into the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth. He dumped out the bag and wiped down their new purchases. He put the batteries into the vibrator and tried each speed. "Okay," he said to John, "since you're going to be the test subject, what do you want to try first -- the toy or the vibrator?" 

"The toy is more of a . . . place holder for something later, yeah? So I guess that first? And we come do something while it's in and then we . . . we can use the vibrator?" Not having used anything like this before he was nervous and unsure.

"I see," Sherlock said. "All right then." He set everything to the side and pulled down the covers to get into the bed. After John did as well, he slid his body against John. "Kissing first, please," he said, and leaned in and kissed John hard on the mouth. He lifted a hand to John's hip and held it, pressing John against him.

John happily kissed him back, trying to focus on that and keeping his mind off of the toys. After everything they had done already it shouldn't be too bad.

Sherlock kissed John's ear and then sucked gently on his neck. He rocked his hips against John until he felt John's cock start to stiffen. Then he pushed John over onto his back. He grabbed the lube and the toy and moved between John's legs. "Would you please give me a rating of your current state of arousal? 1-10, 10 being just seconds away from orgasm. Be as objective as possible," Sherlock said, pouring lube into his hand and letting John watch him stroke the toy to slick it.

John watched his hand move over the toy. "Um . . . three, I suppose," he answered after a bit. He opened and closed his hands against the bed. "Sherlock . . .I'm nervous," he mumbled. "I know you've been up there -- it's not really that but -- I don't know. I'll shut up."

Sherlock used his hand to spread the lube between John's legs. "Don't be nervous, silly. We're just trying something new. You know I want everything to be good for us and you also know what to say if something becomes not good," he said softly, smiling as he moved the toy, rubbing John's thighs and balls with it. "Relax your body now," he said as he pressed the tip to John's hole and began slowly pushing it inside. "How does it feel? Has it increased your rating, would you say?" He watched John's face as the toy moved further in.

John took steady breaths as Sherlock rubbed different parts of him, nodding his head to show he was listening. He gripped the bed as it moved into his body but it was easy to pretend it was Sherlock. He loved the idea of it -- being open for Sherlock when he was ready -- but actually doing it was more nerve-wracking than he imagined. "It's like . . . five," he moaned softly, now pushing towards the toy.

"I must confess, it has increased mine," Sherlock said, leaning over and licking John's cock. "I kind of feel like fucking you with it right now." He pulled the toy back out a bit and pushed it in again. He did this a few more times as he sucked the tip of John's cock. "But I appreciate it is serving a different purpose at the moment," he said pushing it back in and leaving it. Sherlock slid to the side of John and pressed himself against John's hip. With his hand, he reached to stroke John's cock slowly. "How does it feel? The toy, I mean? Does it feel good?" He sucked on the skin of John's arm and shoulder.

John nodded. "It's . . .a pressure," he explained lamely. He felt it just sitting inside of him, closed around the small stem of it. "It's good, feels good," he murmured. "if you want to change what we do with it, that's okay," he told Sherlock, squirming lightly now to feel it moving inside.  

Sherlock sat up and moved over John, straddling him. "I'm finding it kind of sexy, I suppose, knowing it's in there, getting you ready for me," he said, looking down at John. "I do like using my fingers on you, but I suppose this means that when I'm ready to fuck you, I don't have to go slow, I can fuck you hard right away. Would you like that, do you think?" He moved his hands across John's chest, pinching his nipples slightly.

"Ah -- yes," John nodded, arching into his hands. "I would like that." He brought his own hands to Sherlock's thighs, running his hands along the top, around his arse and down the sides again.

Sherlock leaned over and held John's shoulders to pull him up. "Does it feel different sitting up? Better or worse?" Sherlock slid back to sit between John's legs and bounced a little on the bed. "Does it feel the same as when you're bouncing on me?" He moved his hand back to John's cock as he sucked on John's neck. Then he whispered into John's ear, "I love when you let me fuck you that way. Is that what it feels like now?"

John shook his head. "The pressure is more, but you feel better," he answered softly. "You move more. This fills, but you are better." He found that sitting directly on it made him completely unable to just sit still.

Sherlock pushed John back against the bed. "I need your mouth now, John," he said. He turned over on to his back and began stroking his own cock. "Move down between my legs and put me into your mouth."

John lifted himself back up, crawling down to get between Sherlock's legs. He felt the toy moving as he crawled and he had to admit that it felt good. He stayed on his hands and knees so that, when he leaned forward to put his mouth to Sherlock, his arse was up in the air. He licked a long stripe along the underside and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing up and down.

Sherlock sank into the bed at the first touch of John's mouth. It felt so soft and warm and wet. It was such a different sensation to fucking, yet it brought about the same tension, the same urge. He lifted his hips just a little and rocked gently. He rested one hand in John's hair and lifted the other to the pillow above his head.

John hummed around Sherlock, alternating between moving up and down quickly and taking slow pulls upwards, swirling around the tip. As he moved up and down, he arched his back so he could feel the toy moving.

For someone who was relatively new at this, John was very good with his mouth. Sherlock watched John's body moving as well and suddenly he could feel heat rising through him. He dropped his hips and said, "John, stop. I need to fuck you now. I'm sorry but I'm at a 9 and I need to fuck you. Stay where you are." Sherlock shifted so he was behind John. "Put your head on the bed," Sherlock said, as he touched the end of the toy, moving its angle slightly. Then he slowly slid it out and brushed his hand over John's stretched hole. "Fuck," he said and he lifted his cock to John and pushed in hard. He let out a sharp exhale and called John's name.

John pulled off and watched Sherlock get out of bed before dropping his head to the mattress. And then the toy was sliding it and that felt very strange. He bit his lip when Sherlock fingered the hole, knowing it was probably staying open now. "Fuck!" He half whimpered when Sherlock shoved into him, but he was ready, he wanted more. "Yes . . . yes . . . fuck Sherlock."

Sherlock kept bucking into John as he reached around his body and gripped John's cock, stroking it quickly. Each thrust into John felt like it was taking away Sherlock's breath. "Push back into me," he huffed, "and squeeze your muscles."

His muscles, stretched now, were a bit harder to control. But he tried squeezing as he gripped the mattress and bucked backwards, pushing into Sherlock. "Oh God," he moaned, his breath heavy and panting.

"John," Sherlock said, speeding up his hand's movement. "I'm going to come any second now, I want you to come as well. I want to feel your body tighten as you come in my hand." Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt his orgasm begin.

"Will," John panted. "I will, Sherlock I'm-I'm close . . ." He came hard, shuddering and calling out loudly.

Sherlock came into John, pushing further, further. He felt John's body tighten and every muscle in Sherlock's froze for a moment and then he collapsed over John's body, his chest panting against his back. Eventually -- it seemed like hours but was probably only a few seconds -- Sherlock slumped back on to the bed, lying by John's side. He tried to catch his breath.

John called out again when Sherlock pushed in and came. Then Sherlock was out, he felt his muscle pulsing lightly, and he slid onto his belly, into his own mess as he tried to catch his breath.

Sherlock looked over at John and reached his hand to lightly stroke his arm. "Well," he said, his breath slowly coming back to normal, “how would you rate our first experiment?" He smiled.

John chuckled breathlessly and turned his head to face Sherlock. "A complete success," he sighed, closing his eyes.

Sherlock curled against John, slipping an arm underneath him to cuddle. "Let's rest for a little and then we should get up and eat something." He fiddled with John's hair a bit and put kisses on his face.

"Do you mind if I take a short nap?" John asked, settling into Sherlock's body. "Just an hour," he murmured. 

"Of course not," Sherlock said, "after all you did work today and did it while looking ever so handsome -- that must be terribly exhausting." He leaned in and kissed John. "I'll lie here with you and if I don't also fall asleep, I'll get up soon and order some food so it'll be here when you wake up." He cuddled John into him.

"Only saw . . . ten," John mumbled drowsily, but the rest was lost as he drifted off to sleep. He'd been sleepy from waking up early and the orgasm pushed him right over. 

Sherlock watched John sleep. A few times he lightly touched his hair and face, but not enough to disturb him. He loved John. He wished he could promise John that things would always be good. He knew he couldn't, but he wished he could. John was so patient with him; very few people were, probably because Sherlock rarely deserved it, but John still offered it to him. He loved John for that and for all the things he gave him.

After a little while, Sherlock realised he was getting restless but he wanted to let John sleep, so he slid out of bed, grabbed some clean clothes and the toys. He took a quick shower, cleaned the toys and dug out the take away menu. He checked the clock, placed the order, and opened up his laptop to check his email.

When John finally woke up, his head felt heavy and for a moment he was a bit disoriented. He stretched and felt around the bed, frowning when he found it was empty. He closed his eyes again and went into a half-sleep, almost as if resting his brain for just a bit longer, like he'd woken up before his brain could. He was half conscious this time, unsure of how much time passed before he woke up a second time feeling a bit better. He got up, put on Sherlock's robe and went out to find him.  

"Good morning," Sherlock said, smiling at John in his dressing gown. "Was that a good sleep?"

"Morning?" John asked, sinking down beside him. Had it been that long? "What time is it?"

"I'm teasing, you numpty. It's just gone six. The food will be here soon. Why don't we have wine with dinner?" Sherlock asked. "Will you open a bottle?" A few minutes later, Sherlock heard a knock so he went down to fetch the food. He spread it onto some plates, which he carried into the sitting room and set on the coffee table.

John punched his arm lightly before getting up to get the wine, opening it after he had sat down again. "Did you sleep at all?" John asked as they started to eat. 

"No, just rested," Sherlock said. "I slept longer this morning, don't forget." Sherlock flicked on the telly and they watched the news while they ate. Sherlock topped up their wine and felt his body and brain relaxing. "Enjoying your meal?" he asked.

"Yes, it's great," John nodded. "I have the weekend off so I can sleep in, too," he grinned. 

"That is excellent news. I was thinking in a bit, after our food has settled, I mean, we could conduct another experiment. What do you think?" he said, his head facing the television screen.

"The vibrator?" John asked. "Or the massage oil?"

"Could you try to be a little patient, please? If you get yourself all worked up with curiosity, your food won't settle," Sherlock said, smiling at John and taking another sip of wine.

John sighed and leaned back dramatically. "Okay. I'm sorry. I will try and control myself."

"Please do," Sherlock said. "Eagerness is unbecoming." Sherlock sat up properly in the chair. "Are you ready then?"

"I am still eating!" John laughed. "You know, you yelled at me about not being consistent with my punishments and here you are being contradicting."

"You didn't say I couldn't be contradicting, you just said I couldn't say egg, which I haven't said, so there," Sherlock made a face at John and slumped back in the chair, pouting.

"You just did! Two minutes," John teased.

"Whatever," Sherlock said, turning his attention back to the television.

John grinned and lay on his shoulder as he finished up his meal. 

Sherlock sat quietly, ignoring John. Then he said, "Two minutes is up. Time to stop teasing and start the experiment."

"I just finished, you goof. If you work me up now I will vomit everywhere. Or worse. And that's the end you'll be at," he grinned. 

"Oh my god, this is ridiculous," Sherlock moaned in mock anger. "You are such a control freak." He stood up, acting extremely frustrated, and took the dishes into the kitchen to wash.

John watched him go and honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He must be. While trying to figure it out he stayed quiet for too long. John decided he must be kidding. "That's right!" he called out.

Sherlock came back into the sitting room and curled up next to John. "Well, you really should watch that. You'll give yourself an ulcer always trying to be the one in control."

"I haven't got one yet worrying about you, I think I'll be fine," John smiled. 

Sherlock sat quietly as they watched the end of the news. Then he turned off the telly and said, "Now, please?"

For a second John considered telling him two more minutes but he looked so adorable when he was being nice. "Okay," John nodded. 

"The pink bag is in the bathroom, could you bring it into my room, please? I'll meet you there," Sherlock stood up and stretched a little and then headed towards his room.

John wondered why the bag was there as he went to get it, bringing it into the room and sitting up on the bed. "Well, Mr Scientist?" 

As John passed, Sherlock took the pink bag from his hand. "Lie on the bed, please," Sherlock said. He stayed standing by the door, watching and waiting. "You can get under the covers if you'd like or keep on my dressing gown. It's totally up to you." 

"I'll keep the dressing gown on," John said. "It's not that cold." He settled onto his back comfortably and looked over at Sherlock. 

Sherlock walked over to the bed. He set the pink bag on the floor and sat down. He put one hand on John's face, cupping his cheek, and leaned in and kissed him. Then he trailed the hand down John's neck to his chest. "You are very good to me, John," he said softly. "I'm not sure I always deserve what you give me. I'd like to do something for you now, but to do so, I will need to take away your control. Do you think you can trust me to do that? If you're uncomfortable, you know that it just takes two words to make it stop. Can we try?"

John smiled up at Sherlock. He was always so kind when asking for things, so exact in making sure that he explained it all to John. "Of course I trust you, Sherlock. I would like to try," he nodded. 

Sherlock leaned over and reached into the bedside drawer. He set the pink handcuffs on John's chest. "Okay?" he asked.

John nodded. "Okay," he smiled. 

Sherlock lifted John's arms above his head. "Your wrists will be together, but not bound to the bed." He hooked John's wrists together. "Just because the pink handcuffs are out, please do not be misled that this will be a soft evening." He leaned back over to the pink bag and got out the blindfold and set that on John's chest. "Okay?" he asked.

John nodded, having forgotten about the blindfold. "That's okay, too."

He tied the blindfold loosely around John's head. He adjusted John's position a little and then stood up from the bed. He turned off the lamp, which he knew seemed pointless since John was blindfolded, but somehow the dark room relaxed Sherlock a little. He took off his clothes and let them fall to the floor. Then he lay down on the bed next to John without touching him. He poured some lube into his hand and said, "I'm pouring some lube into my hand." Then he said, "John, I need you to listen very carefully." Sherlock reached over for the vibrator which he turned on. "Do you hear that, John?"

John squirmed and nodded. "Yes, I hear that." He was tense, waiting for it to touch him somewhere.

Sherlock held the vibrator in one hand and slipped the fingers from his other hand to wrap around it, slicking it with the lube, feeling the vibrations move through his wrist and up his arm. Then he rested it on his hip, feeling the vibrations there. Then he moved it so it was just barely touching his cock. He took a deep breath and relaxed into the feeling. "What do you think I should do with it, John?"

"Tell me," John said, turning towards the sound. "Tell me what you're doing with it."

Sherlock couldn't make the words. Instead he moved the vibrator down between his legs. He slipped his other hand there slicking everything. He pressed the tip to his opening and took a deep breath, trying to relax his muscles. Then he slowly pushed it in.

It had been a very long time since Sherlock had done anything like this and the pressure took away his breath for a second. The pleasure, though, from the soft vibrations quickly took over and Sherlock's breath increased. He made a soft hum and slipped his free hand into his hair. "John," he said softly.

John knew he could take the blindfold off, but he didn't. He whimpered softly and craned his neck. "Please . . . I want to see . . ."

"Shh," Sherlock said, "just listen for now." The vibrator was only about half way in, so he slowly pushed it in further, minding the angle to avoid hitting his prostate. He didn't want too much at once. He held onto the vibrator and rocked his hips slightly, moving himself against the pressure. "Oh god," he moaned softly, closing his eyes.

It did feel good, it felt very good. He hadn't missed it -- sometimes he had missed the other things, but he hadn't missed this. Because, in the past, this had always been a kind of currency, a bargaining chip. It was shameful but true. This was his secret weapon -- this was what he withheld to buy himself more time, more attention. And when he realised that it was time to give it up, he did and the end always came shortly thereafter. His obsessive behaviour was much less tolerable once his body had been conquered, and he had nothing mysterious left to offer.

But Sherlock put that out of his head now. Nothing about his relationship with John was going to be like things had been in the past. He listened to John breathing next to him, and he relaxed his body and it all felt good.

John squirmed against his own growing erection, listening to Sherlock beside him. It was sexy, and in the darkness he imagined what it looked like, what Sherlock looked like fucking himself with the vibrator. 

Sherlock slipped the vibrator from his body and laid it next to him, without turning it off. He calmed himself for a moment and sat up and reached into the pink bag. He moved the vibrator so it was lying next to John's thigh. He wiggled down the bed a little and flicked his tongue on John's cock a few times, before holding it and pushing it into his mouth. He flattened his tongue and used it to cover John's cock as he bobbed his head.

"Oh!" John gasped when he felt Sherlock's tongue, moaning when he disappeared into Sherlock's mouth. He could hear the vibrator going beside him. He gripped the headboard to keep his arms up. "God, Sherlock . . . God.. . . "

Sherlock pushed against John's body, swallowing him down, before quickly moving back. He did this a few more times, pulling back each time his gag reflex started. Then he went back to licking as he quickly reached for the lube and the other toy and slicked it. "Relax your body for me, John," he said softly. He slipped his hand between John's legs, pressed a finger tip against John's hole and then switched to pressing the toy slowly in. He swirled his tongue around the tip of John's cock.

When John felt the plastic he jumped expecting the vibrator. But it was just the other toy. "God," he murmured, focusing on relaxing for Sherlock, feeling it sinking into his body. 

Sherlock pushed the toy all the way in. "You okay?" he asked softly, moving to kiss John's belly. The vibrator had moved on the bed and was close enough that Sherlock could feel its movements in his abdomen. He grabbed the bottle of lube and slid back up on the bed. He poured more into his hand and began stroking John's cock, hard but slow. "Kissing, please," he said, leaning in.

John lifted his head to meet Sherlock, kissing him desperately, moaning loudly into his mouth. He bucked his hips lightly to feel the movement inside. 

Sherlock shifted his body, pressing against John while still working his cock. Then he said, "I want to feel your weight on top of me," and he slid awkwardly under him, wiggling until John was more comfortably lying on him, his arms on either side of Sherlock's head. It was harder to stroke now, so he slipped his hand lower to hold and pull softly on John's balls and they kissed again. Then he reached again to John's cock and pulled it down a bit as Sherlock shifted up slightly. He reached up with his other hand and pulled the blindfold from John's eyes. He lined up John's cock to his opening and said, "Push, John."

"Ah -- fuck," John moaned, pushing into Sherlock's body. His breath caught at the tightness, the heat around him that he hadn't felt in so long. "Fucking hell . . . " he moaned, starting a slow pace. 

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, trying to think of nothing but relaxing into what was happening. It was John, he loved John, he wanted to give this to John for no other reason but loving him. And despite the stretch, it felt good. It was good, feeling John fill a place he hadn't realised was empty. He reached his arms around John's back, pulling him closer, and wrapped his legs around John's hips.

John moved awkwardly, his hands together and unable to be used as proper leverage. "You feel so good," he moaned. He rolled his hips as best as he could, gazing down at Sherlock. 

Sherlock did his best to thrust up against John's rhythm. One of his hands slipped to John's hair, which he held tight in his fist. There was an electricity, an urge, and it felt tense in his body. He tightened his muscles around John, holding him inside. "John," he moaned, "fuck, it feels good."

John nodded, gasping with every push. The toy moved slightly inside of him, enough to send small sparks of pleasure through him, through the constant pleasure he felt pushing into Sherlock's tight heat. He was close, whimpering and moaning softly.  

"Kiss me when you come into me, John," Sherlock said, looking up at John's face. He closed his legs around John, pulling them tighter to push him further in.

"Fuck . . ." John shuddered out, slamming his lips to Sherlock's in a messy kiss as he came seconds later. No warning or anything -- just a very intense release. He moaned loudly, squeezing around the toy, trying to keep the kiss going. 

Sherlock lost himself for a minute in John's kiss and orgasm. Everything went fuzzy in his head and he could barely remember his own name. And then he returned and kissed John hard. He slipped his hand to his cock which was aching and wet from the friction against John's belly, and it only took a few strokes before he exploded and got lost again. He panted against John's shoulder for a few minutes and then stretched his hand to the bedside table to get the key and reached over his head to unlock John's wrists.

John slowly pulled himself out of Sherlock and collapsed on top of him, panting heavily and wrapping his arms around the man. 

"John," Sherlock said softly. "Is everything . . . was it good?"

John nodded. "Can you -- take the toy out?" he asked between breaths. 

Sherlock reached down between John's legs and whispered, "Relax" and pulled it out quickly but smoothly. He reached for the vibrator, turned it off and pushed both toys off the bed. He lifted the covers and crawled under. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say so said nothing.

"Thank you, for that," John said as he curled up beside Sherlock. "It felt . . . great. Different, but so good."

"You're welcome, John. Thank you for going along with my experiment," Sherlock said, pulling him closer. "It felt different but good for me also."

John smiled. "Experiments are fun," he said.

"That's always been my philosophy," Sherlock's voice was sleepy. "I might need to close my eyes for a few minutes," he said softly, his eyes already closing.

"Of course," John smiled softly. "I will lay here with you. Get some rest."

Sherlock rested against John and quickly fell to sleep. There were no dreams, just sleep -- his mind and body restful. 

John smiled and petted his hair lightly as he slept, murmuring how much he loved him again. 


	18. Everything And Always

Sherlock shifted a little and his leg got caught in the sheet, which woke him up. He opened he eyes and freed his leg. He looked at John and mumbled, "I’m glad you're still here."

John smiled. "Where would I be?" he murmured. 

"I don't know. An Egg Lovers Anonymous meeting?" he said, grinning at John as he stretched in the bed. "Ow," he said. "I'd forgotten I'd be sore. God, I've not missed that." He wiggled a little to settle back on the bed.

"You haven't learned anything," John laughed. "I'm sorry you're sore."

"Don't be," Sherlock said. "I don't think I am so there's no reason for you to be."  
  
"Okay. But you got two minutes again," he teased softly. 

"Unfair. I meant regular eggs, you love them and you know it. I didn't mean . . ." he stopped himself and instead rolled over and pointed to his backside and then rolled back and made an egg shape with his hand. "So there. Why are you so mean when you wake up? Is this how you're always going to be? It's extremely worrying, John." He curled against John and fiddled with his hair.

"You're the one that just woke up, Sherlock," John reminded him. "And you know very well that is not what you meant." 

"Whatever, no wait, that makes even more sense. I thought it was morning and was expecting eggs for breakfast. That's why I said eggs. You can't punish me for saying eggs, John. Eggs are just part of a healthy breakfast," he laughed softly at himself. "Besides, that's worse -- I just woke up and you are being so cruel. I'm going to start punishing you for being mean." Sherlock pinched John's nipple and said, "Eggs."

"Ow! You just got yourself like a half hour delay!" John laughed, squirming away from him.

"That is absolutely fine, John, as every time you claim you are giving me a delay, I am going to punish you in some way," he closed his eyes to think. "For every minute you punish me, I am going to cry for one minute."

"You will not!" John laughed. "I am punishing you for a legitimate reason, you're just being . . . out of control!" 

"That's it," Sherlock said, rolling away from John and whimpering softly, moving his shoulders as if he were crying. "Why, why, why did I have to fall in love with such a brute?" he called out.

John grabbed the pillow and swatted his back with it. "Stop being so dramatic!" 

"I can't stop -- that's how I am and you know it!" Sherlock said, swatting John back with the pillow.

"Well, this is how I am!" John said, hitting him again. 

"That's a lie -- you are not cruel, you just act that way sometimes. I am pretty much almost dramatic and you knew that from the start!" Sherlock threw a pillow at John.

"Okay, that is very true, but you make me do these things," he said with mock seriousness. 

"Do not blame the victim," Sherlock said. "I adore you, I buy you presents, I let you bounce around on me and look what happens. Outrageous!"

John laughed. "We have got to change that phrasing -- it sounds ridiculous!"

"It's romantic," he said. "And more importantly true. And even more importantly . . . eggs."

"That's it!" John grinned. "I am going to take the toys into my room and play alone and not let you watch," he teased. 

"They're not yours to take, Doctor Watson! Leave them and your person in this bed or you're really going to get in trouble with me!"

John got out of bed, still naked, and grabbed the vibrator, slowly heading to the door. 

"John Watson, do not go through that door. I have a weapon trained on you and am not afraid to shoot," Sherlock said, deadly seriously.

"What weapon?" John asked, still backing away slowly. 

"Um . . . which one would get you to come back to bed -- this pillow or the thing between my legs?"

John laughed and waved the vibrator. "But I have this now," he said, having stopped walking now. 

Sherlock sat up and grabbed the other toy and waved it. "Yours is for soft times, mine is not. I win."

"But imagine . . . what I am going to with this . . . all alone in my room . . ." he mused, taking one step back. 

"I can't," Sherlock said, putting down the toy. "I can't imagine it. Why don't you come over here and show me so that I can imagine it?"

"What if I told you?" John said, looking at the toy now. 

"That might be useful," Sherlock said, sliding back under the covers and resting his head on the pillow, watching John.

"I'm going to . . . suck it, for a bit I think, so it'll be wet," he said, now moving closer to the bed again. "And when I've done that I'm going to slowly push it into my body . . . and I'll turn it on . . . and fuck myself with it."

"Slow or fast?" Sherlock asked, his voice quieter now.

"Slow at first," John nodded. "Because I would have to find my prostate and then I would turn it up and . . . pound away," he finished slowly. He was at the end of the bed now, watching Sherlock. 

Sherlock shifted under the covers. "Would you say my name?"

"I would scream your name because I would be thinking about you -- wishing you weren't being mean to me, wishing you were fucking me instead," he murmured.

"I'm not being mean when I say egg, John," Sherlock said softly. "Come lie by me."

John smiled and crawled into bed, pecking a kiss on his cheek. "I'd never actually do that, you know." he said quietly. 

"You should," Sherlock crawled on John and straddled him. He grabbed John's hand and moved it to his hard cock, "As you can see I found it quite sexy." He leaned over and kissed John's mouth. "Do you want me to do sexy talk until you get hard?"

John nodded. "I'd be glad to do it for you," he murmured. 

"I kind of feel a little shy," Sherlock said, kissing John's neck. "But I'll try since you did." He moved his mouth to John's ear and sucked and nipped it softly. Then he put his lips close and whispered, "Eggs, eggs, eggs, eggs."

John pushed him off and swatted him with the pillow before getting up again. "I guess playing in my room it is!" he grinned, and with that he darted out of Sherlock's room, chuckling as he ran away. 

Sherlock stood up from the bed and followed John into his room. He climbed on John's bed and over his body, straddling him. He pinned John's arms over his head and leaned over John's face. "John Watson, you little teenaged girl, making me chase you like this. You are being a very naughty boy. No more joking around now. You lie here for a moment and wait for me to return. Do not disobey me," he said in a calm voice. He sat up, grabbed the vibrator and left John's room.

John shivered at Sherlock's words, watching him get up and leave. He was so stunned by how quickly it had happened that he didn't even lower his arms. He simply lay there, arms over his head, and waited. He hoped Sherlock hadn't minded the teasing, and John's silly attempts to punish him. He had a feeling that Sherlock's attempts wouldn't be so silly, but he also knew Sherlock would never hurt him. Today was not a soft day, and his stomach flipped excitedly.

Sherlock returned to John's bedroom with the washed toys and a bottle of the new lube. He smiled at John and said, "See? Isn't it much nicer to be a good boy?" He climbed up on the bed and moved between John's legs. "Now you'll get rewarded. You think you're very clever, John, but rewards for good behaviour are always more effective than punishments for bad." He poured some lube into his hand and began stroking John's cock. "I'd like you to make this very hard, please."

"I reward you, too," John said, focusing on Sherlock's hand so he could get hard.

"True," Sherlock said, his voice soft, "but you also punish. I don't do that, at least not intentionally." He moved his other hand to between John's legs, slicking everywhere. "You're very sexy, you know, when you're a good boy, I mean."

"I'm always a good boy," John smiled, humming at the feel of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock looked up and said, "No, you are not. But I always love you, even when you are not a good boy." He brushed his fingertips against John's hole and then rested one there. "I want to put my finger inside, John," he said softly and pushed a bit in slowly as he leaned over and put a kiss on John's belly.

"Wh-when was I a bad boy?" John asked, squirming lightly.

"When you're mean to me just because I say . . . a certain word. That's cruel, John," Sherlock's voice was low and quiet. "You mustn't be cruel," he added as he pushed two fingers into John. He let out a small hum because he loved doing this.

"I asked you n-not to . . . you were being m-mean, too," John murmured.

"No, I wasn't, John," Sherlock said calmly. "At best, I was teasing. But really, must you always have that much control -- to even control the words I use? Come on, now, that can't be right, can it?" Sherlock began pumping his fingers into John steadily.

John started to pant softly. "It just sounds . . . strange," John mumbled. "I asked n-nicely and you kept g-going . . ."

"Are you sure you asked nicely? Or did you shout at me and then threaten me? Because that seems more like a control issue than a simple request. Why don't you let me show me what asking nicely really sounds like?" Sherlock leaned over and nuzzled John's belly, letting his hair brush over John's cock. " For example," he went on, "right now, I'd like to request that you beg me to fuck you. Now it would be cruel to say, 'John, say that or I will punish you.' A nicer way of saying it would be 'Please, John, please beg me because I want you, I want to fuck you, I want to fill you and make you come.'" Sherlock shifted the angle of his fingers to put a slight pressure on John's prostate. "Isn't that nicer to hear, John?"

John whimpered softly. "I-I did ask nicely . . . the first time." He writhed lightly as Sherlock touched his prostate, bringing his hands beside him to hold the sheet.

"My god, you are stubborn, John Watson," Sherlock said with a wicked smile. "Okay, then, I guess you've proven me wrong. I asked nicely and you ignored me. So I suppose I'll have to take your route of threatening punishment." He slid his fingers from John's body, reached for the vibrator, and held it against John's inner thigh. "I'd like to hear you beg me, John, because I really want to fuck you with this. If you don't do as I've asked, the punishment will be . . . I will never, ever use this except on myself, alone, in my room with the door locked. Have a good think, John, about what you say next, because I am not teasing."

"I wasn't . . . " John started but he stopped, knowing how these games worked. "Please . . . please fuck me," he said instead, gripping the bed harder.

"I am so going to fuck you, John. First with this," he said, pushing the vibrator's tip into him, "and then with my cock so I can come inside you." He pushed the vibrator further into John, not roughly but harder than he had used it on himself. He started a slow rhythm, moving it far in as it would go and then bringing it almost all the way out, leaving it there for a few seconds, before pushing it back in. Sherlock's own cock was hard, and he moved his other hand to it to stroke it slowly.

John moaned softly, moving his hips to match the speed Sherlock was using. It felt good, sliding into his body, and he fixed his eyes on Sherlock.

"Will you say 'Please Sherlock' again, John? It's ever so sexy when you do," Sherlock said, using his thumb to turn the vibrator on as he continued to move it into John.

"Jesus . . ." John gasped softly as vibrations courses through his body -- deep, in his core. "Please, Sherlock . . ." he moaned, writhing harder. "Sherlock . . . please."

"Fuck, John, you are so sexy," Sherlock said, his breath quickening a bit. He kept pace with the vibrator but changed the angle slightly, so as it moved out, it passed John's prostate. "Say please, again, John, one more time."

John shouted out and bucked hard. "Please! Sherlock . . . please . . . please. . ." He begged. The vibrations on his prostate were very intense and they made his mind go fuzzy. "I'm going to . . . come . . . please."

"No, you're not," Sherlock said, slipping the vibrator from John's body and turning it off. He rested one of his hands on John's belly and said, "Breathe deeply, John, and relax your body." He leaned over and lay down, partly next to John and partly on top of him. "I'm glad that felt good, but we mustn't rush." He petted John's chest and kissed his ear softly.

John groaned softly when everything stopped so suddenly, his cock leaking onto his belly.  
  
Sherlock slid his hand to John's cock and started a slow stroke. "Feeling a little more relaxed now?" he asked, kissing John's shoulder.

John nodded. "Not as . . . close anyways," he breathed.

"Good. Kiss now," Sherlock said. He kissed John's mouth hard. Then he reached for John's hand and moved to his Sherlock's cock. "Help me with this. Make me ache."

John wanted to stroke him furiously, but he held back and gripped him lightly, stroking slow and steady.

Sherlock made a soft moan. "Mmm . . . John, that's good," he exhaled as he too stroked John slowly. He closed his eyes and thought of the things they had done together. Sherlock leaned over and kissed John hard. "I want to fuck you, John, and come inside."

John gripped him a bit harder, stroking at the same pace. "I want that, too. Please. . ."

Sherlock put his fingertips to John's lips. "In here. I want to fuck you here and come inside," he said softly.

John kissed his fingers. "Yes, my mouth . . . please," he murmured against his fingertips. "Please . . . Sherlock."

"Remember, tongue, yeah?" Sherlock said and then shifted, moving upside down in the bed. He started kissing John's belly. "Hands as well, please," he said, moving his to John's cock which he stroked slowly.

John moved his head to suck Sherlock into his mouth, stroking the base as he bobbed.

Sherlock exhaled warm breath against John's belly, "God, John, it's so warm and wet inside, it feels good." He rocked his hips just a little to the rhythm of John's hand.

John bobbed faster, swirling his tongue around the tip.

Sherlock's pulse was quickening and his hips were moving more now. "John," he said softly between gasps, "could you try one finger, just a little bit in?" He felt a little nervous all of a sudden, asking for this, when he wasn't in complete control, but he knew he too could use John's special words if he wanted to stop. He tried to relax his body and his brain.

John pulled off and found the lube, putting plenty on his finger and on Sherlock. "Tell me when," he murmured, sucking Sherlock back into his mouth before, very gently, pushing his finger into Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock gasped again, "like that, stay like that, except move just a little." He moved his hips softly to give John an idea what he meant. "Yes, John, yes . . ." his voice trailed as he felt himself getting lost in it all.

John sucked harder and curled his finger, moving it lightly in and out of Sherlock. He took Sherlock's cock deep, humming quietly.

"Oh god, John," Sherlock moaned. "More, please." He pressed his open mouth against John's belly.

Not knowing more of what exactly, John pushed his finger slowly all the way in. At the same time he swallowed Sherlock and paused for a bit before coming up for air and doing it again. 

Full sentences were not an option for Sherlock at this point. "Tongue . . ." he mumbled, "move your finger . . . harder." He was painfully close and it was so good.

John swirling his tongue over the head and tip, licking up and down his shaft before sucking him into his mouth again. John moved his finger faster, pushing it into Sherlock's body.

"John," Sherlock gasped, "I . . . can't . . ." and then Sherlock came and everything in his body tightened and his hips pressed into John and there was nothing he could do until he could breathe again and he felt his entire body sinking and he returned and mumbled something that wasn't quite a word.

John winced and felt the start of it dribble onto his chin before he caught up a bit and swallowed around him. When he was done John pulled off, slipped his finger out, and wiped at his chin with the back of his hand. 

Sherlock finally felt a bit more grounded. "You okay?" he said softly, his mouth still pressed against John's stomach.

John nodded against his thigh. "Thought you were going to fuck me," he mumbled, teasing Sherlock despite his own slightly painful erection. 

"Don't have such a narrow-minded view of fucking, John," Sherlock said. "And why must you always be so impatient?" He moved his body so he was lying next to John. He kissed his mouth and then leaned back on the pillow, smiling. "Give me your hand, you impatient boy," he said.

John lifted his hand and gave it to Sherlock. "Not narrow-minded. Just eager," he smiled. 

Sherlock reached for the lube and poured some into John's hand. "Stroke yourself until you're all slick," he said, dragging his body up and moving to kneel between John's legs.

John stroked himself, moving his hand slow so he wouldn't come. "Sherlock . . . I'm so close," he moaned. 

"Stop moving your hand now, just hold it," he said. "Don't move your hand again until I say. Relax yourself," Sherlock said, rubbing John's thighs for a moment. Then he poured some lube into his own hand, reached for the vibrator, slicked it and turned it on. He pressed it against John's hand as he leaned over and licked around John's fingers. The vibrations felt odd on his tongue as he moved to swirl it around John's tip.

John started to pant desperately. "Sherlock . . . please . . . I can't much longer."

"Keep your hand still, John," Sherlock said, sitting up again. He moved the vibrator down to John's legs and then between them. "Take a few deep breaths," he instructed and as John did, Sherlock slowly pushed the vibrator in. He began a rhythm and watched the little movements John's body instinctively made in reaction. "You really are something else to look at," he said, smiling.

Sherlock shifted the angle and the movement, so the vibrator's tip put pressure on John's prostate. "Is that good?" he asked, going back to the other rhythm. "Is it too much or is it good?"

John's head fell back and, through his heavy panting to keep himself in control, he couldn't formulate a response. His free hand was digging into the bed so tightly his knuckles were white. The vibrations on his prostate set every nerve on fire. 

Sherlock pressed the vibrator against John's prostate again. "Move your hips, John. Help me fuck you with this," he lifted his other hand to hold John's balls. "Move your hand now, I want to see you explode." Sherlock had barely caught his breath from his own orgasm, but his voice was raspy again and he could feel his pulse racing.

John started to stroke himself furiously, but his body was a bit weary of the intensity so he couldn't make his hips move. He focused on the vibrator moving in and out of him, the few times it happened to brush his prostate, and his hand. It only took a few seconds before he was coming all over himself, shouting and whimpering and moaning Sherlock's name over and over. 

Sherlock quickly slipped the vibrator from John's body to avoid making John too tender. He turned it off, pushed it away and lay down by John, holding his arm. "God damn it, John, that was beautiful," he said smiling and kissing John's shoulder.

John chuckled breathlessly and nodded. He felt like his legs would never properly support him again -- they were like jelly. "Very intense . . ." he mumbled.

"Do you think you'll recover or is that it, you're done for the weekend?" Sherlock said, teasing John as he fiddled with his hair.

John smiled wider. "I'll be fine. I'm . . . stronger than you think," he teased. 

"Good, I'm glad," Sherlock said. "I would like to do everything to you and with you this weekend. I want you spend the majority of the next 48 hours feeling like you'll never be able to walk again." He moved his fingertips in the mess of come on John's belly. "You need to clean up this mess, because I think it might be time for sleep soon."

"I need sleep," John said, wiping his belly and then curling into Sherlock. "And then we can do everything. I want everything, too, Sherlock. With you. . . only you." He pressed his face against Sherlock's chest. "I know I'll always love you, but you said to just say today and tomorrow. I love you today, Sherlock, and I'll love you tomorrow."  
  
Sherlock wrapped his arm around John, pulling him even closer. He, too, was sure he'd love John always, but instead he too said, "I love you today and I'll also love you tomorrow." He kissed the top of John's head. "Thank you for everything that's already happened," he added softly.

"And thank you for everything that will," John said sleepily, drifting even as the words left his mouth.


End file.
